


(Im)Perfect Strangers

by Llama1412



Series: Don't Cry For Me, Temeria [1]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, Angry Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Battle Couple, Canon-Typical Violence, Courting Rituals, Cunnilingus, Drunk Sex, Enemies to Lovers, Face-Sitting, Families of Choice, Fantastic Racism, Hand Jobs, Identity Porn, Jealousy, M/M, Misunderstandings, Non-Human Genitalia, One Night Stands, Oral Sex, Outdoor Sex, Politics, Recreational Drug Use, Secret Relationship, Sort Of, Team as Family, ear sucking, technically it's the other way around
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:48:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 26
Words: 135,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26116723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llama1412/pseuds/Llama1412
Summary: When Roche is sent on an undercover assignment, he doesn't expect to run into a pretty elf who seems open to his drunken advances, but he wouldn't change a thing.Until he finds out exactly who the pretty elf really is.A Witcher 2 Different First Meeting AU
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Triss Merigold, Iorveth & Saskia, Iorveth/Vernon Roche, Vernon Roche & Triss Merigold
Series: Don't Cry For Me, Temeria [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1912225
Comments: 276
Kudos: 143





	1. Prologue: Different First Meeting

Vernon Roche usually tried to think about Iorveth as little as possible. Of course, considering his job was to hunt down the elf, he was rarely successful, but he tried nonetheless.

The problem was, when King Foltest had given him command of the Blue Stripes, Roche had had no way of knowing that he’d be going up against a former – what? Lover? One night stand? Worst mistake of Roche’s life?

He hadn’t thought it was a mistake at the time. In fact, at the time, he’d felt unusually lucky.

The thing you have to know about Roche is that his role in life since he’d been plucked from poverty had been to carry out the King’s orders. In whatever form that took. Eventually, that looked like receiving command of the Blue Stripes, an elite squadron of special forces operatives, for the express purpose of hunting down and ending the nonhuman threat. Roche typically chose to interpret that as the _Scoia’tael_ threat, but deep down, even he knew what Foltest had really meant.

Still, Roche wore the Temerian lilies with pride. He was loyal to Temeria and he was loyal to his King, and if that meant selectively carrying out certain orders, well, he could justify doing so for the good of Temeria. Hated or not, the nonhumans that lived innocently in Temerian towns were no threat, not unless they joined the Scoia’tael. And worsening race relations only increased the number of new Scoia’tael recruits. His job was to remove the Scoia’tael threat to Temeria’s sovereignty, and that meant _preventing_ new recruits.

Roche didn’t consider himself racist. But then, he supposed, few did. He had no problem with elves or dwarves or halflings, but he _did_ have a problem with terrorists. 

He was pretty sure Iorveth wouldn’t see the difference, but that was neither here nor there.

Did it make a difference that the best fuck of his life was with an elf?

He’d honestly thought it did – he found elves as appealing as anyone else. That didn’t make him racist. He’d thought back on that experience fondly. _Proudly._

Then he discovered exactly who it was he had slept with.

It had all started with a mission King Foltest had sent him on, behind the Aedirnian border. The mission was entirely undercover – if he had been caught, he would not have been claimed as a Temerian. But Roche was good at what he did, he was good at carrying out the King’s will, and he never got caught.

Not for long, at least. He was also very skilled with a sword. 

After dealing with the witnesses, Roche made his way quietly out of Vengerberg and started the long trek back to Vizima, back to his King. His journey had been largely uneventful. Peaceful, even.

Until Bel Dorul, a little dwarven town between Vergen and the Mahakam Mountains. Bel Dorul changed everything. 

The noise was the first thing he noticed. Walking down the road at a steady pace, Roche heard the roar of the party long before he saw it. From a distance, he’d honestly thought it was the sound of some horrid creature dying, but it turned out to be a dwarven instrument of some sort. He discovered this because a halfling with a drink in hand nearly ran directly into him and then held up an odd looking carven tube and blew with with all of his might directly next to Roche’s ear.

When his hearing recovered, he could make out, as if from a distance, the halfling saluting him with a drink and hollering, “it’s a party!! Free ale!”

Well, as much as he wanted to punch the halfling, Roche had never been one to turn up his nose at free ale. So he followed the halfling back towards the town – apparently the man had been searching for a convenient tree and had wandered rather far – and when the halfling drew a breath, Roche yanked that damn instrument out of his hands and stuck it in his pocket.

The halfling was too drunk to protest overly much, and Roche ignored his indignant slurring. His own ears were still ringing from the last blare of noise that had sounded like a harpy getting strangled.

By the time they reached the town, Roche could hear what sounded like a hundred of those irritating little instruments all blowing out of sync. _Free booze,_ he reminded himself, and took a deep breath, steeling himself before heading for the dense crowd.

It was actually kind of incredible to look around. This town was majority nonhuman – dwarves mostly, but also elves and halflings and any others not welcome in places like Temeria. But there were a handful of other humans scattered amongst the crowd of drunken nonhumans, and no one gave Roche more than a cursory look as he made his way towards the ale kegs.

After his first mug of ale, he felt less tense about the damn instruments. After his third, he even started to like them a little bit, blowing absently into the one he’d stolen from the halfling.

After his fourth, he even joined in with some of the dancing. Apparently they were celebrating a wedding between – well, he wasn’t actually sure between who, but the important thing was, it was a wedding. And weddings meant food and ale and dancing, and Roche was a fan of all three of those.

One of the dwarves he finished a reel with turned to him with a grin under his ruddy face and bushy beard and hair. “What say you to some shots?”

“Lead the way,” said an already slightly drunk Roche, who thought that more alcohol sounded like a wonderful idea.

As it turned out, when dwarves did shots, what they actually did was fill a shot glass up with some sort of dwarven spirit and then drop it into a mug of ale, chugging the combination as quickly as possible.

The first one was fun, a slight tension building in his belly as he struggled to swallow as quickly as the dwarves.

After the second one, his vision was more than a tad shaky and he needed more food, so he left his dwarven companions with a toot of the actually-awesome instrument and a raised mug of ale in farewell, then headed to the food tables. 

That was where he found the elf. More accurately, he nearly ran straight into the elf, his ale sloshing all over them. He’d been looking down, expecting the obstacles in his path to be at waist level, and had not at all noticed that his wobbly steps brought him directly into the poor elf.

Guy hadn’t even been moving. Roche felt kind of bad.

“Sorry,” he slurred, batting at the stain on the elf’s shirt with his hand, as if he could magically clean it up. At some point, it turned into stroking the elf’s chest though his shirt and oh, he should probably introduce himself, shouldn’t he? “‘m Vernon.”

“That’s nice.” The elf just stared at him blankly. His tunic had gone slightly see-through and Roche watched his own hand stroke up and down that chest. It looked weirdly hairless, but maybe that’s how elves were.

He’d never been with an elf before.

“I didn’t ask,” the elf said, mouth flat and Roche realized that he’d said that out loud.

“Oh fuck, I’m sorry. I am – very drunk.” He looked down at himself and a hint of clarity gave him the strength to pointedly remove himself from the elf’s person. “Sorry.”

The elf tilted his head, pointed ears sticking out through the red bandana around his face. “I didn’t say you had to stop.”

Roche blinked. Well. All right then. He reached back out and lay his palm flat over the elf’s shirt. It really was quite a nice chest, after all. In fact, he’d kind of like to see that chest from close up.

He licked his lips and swallowed before looking up and attempting to meet the elf’s eyes. His vision was not entirely stable, and he belatedly realized that the elf actually only had one eye free, the other covered by that bandana. Was it rude to want to see what was hidden below?

Probably. Besides, there was something else he wanted more.

“Have you ever had a human?”

The elf cocked his lone eyebrow and started down at him. “From the look of you, you’ve had too much drink for my answer to make a difference.”

Roche scoffed loudly. Yes, okay, he was definitely quite drunk. But he wasn’t incapable of giving consent and his sober self would appreciate getting laid. And besides – “False! I assure you, my mouth is in as good a condition as it ever is.”

The elf choked on his next swallow of ale. “Are you offering your mouth?” he asked curiously, as if he couldn’t believe his pointed ears.

Roche shrugged. “I mean, I dunno what elves have got in their pants, but I figure mouths are good for pretty much anything.” To prove his point, he leaned forward onto his tiptoes and licked a stripe up the elf’s ear.

The elf made a high pitched strangled sound, the skin Roche had licked rapidly turning red. Roche decided he liked the sound. In fact, more of it would be nice.

So it only made sense to drop to his knees to prove his point.

This noise sounded more scandalized than pleased, but Roche figured he could fix that, so he nosed forward into the apex of the elf’s thighs. He genuinely had no idea what he might find, but how different could elves really be? And whatever he had, Roche was sure he could figure out how to lick it nicely.

“Dear gods,” the elf hissed, grabbing at his hair. It had grown longer than regulation length in the weeks he’d been on the road and he found he rather liked the way the elf was able to knot his hands in it. “How drunk _are_ you? We’re in public!”

Oh yeah, Roche had rather forgotten about the party going on around him. Still, he would have been content to ignore it if not for the sound of one of those little instruments going off nearby.

The elf flinched, hands moving as if to cover his ears before he realized what he was doing and he brought them back down.

“Let’s go somewhere else then,” Roche offered. He watched the elf swallow – apparently both species had Adam’s apples – and then nod jerkily. 

“I know somewhere,” the elf said and he stepped back from Roche while clearing his throat. “Away from the damn kazoos.”

“The what now?” Roche pulled himself to his feet and gestured for the elf to lead the way.

“Nevermind.” The elf led him across the grassy hills until they reached the base of a large oak tree. The sounds of the party were muted, barely discernible over the wind and the birds. 

Roche looked around approvingly, his wavering vision slowly growing more stable. “Satisfied?” he asked.

The elf nodded, turning back to him with a challenging tilt of his head. Roche smirked, marching forward until he could back the elf up against the tree. He darted forward for a kiss, because he liked kissing dammit, and this wasn’t a situation where kissing cost more. The elf opened his mouth, letting Roche suck on his bottom lip.

When he pulled back, the elf made a face. “What the hell did you eat? You taste vile.”

Roche surprised himself by laughing. “You’re clearly great at this picking someone up thing.” he shook his head and dropped to his knees again. “Fortunately for you, there’s another taste I’m interested in.”

The elf bit his lip, long, thin fingers reaching for his belt and slowly undoing it, looking down at Roche on his knees the whole while. Roche winked at him – or tried to – and slid his hands under the hem of the elf’s tunic, pulling the hose down.

He pressed his face into the elf’s groin and discovered that elven dicks weren’t _that_ different from human ones. It was longer, an interesting tapered shape with a spiral of ridges circling it, but nothing he couldn’t manage to fit his mouth around. When he flicked out his tongue for a taste, he found that elves differed from humans here too, sweet and almost tangy.

With his hand on the elf’s thigh, Roche immediately noticed when something wet trickled down the inside of the elf’s leg. His first thought was how odd it was that elves wouldn’t urinate using their dicks, but he didn’t actually mind as much as he might have expected. Perhaps because instead of the acrid scent of urine, he could smell only the faintest trace of something that reminded him of candied fruit. Whatever it was, his curiosity had him nosing down below the elf’s cock, pushing his legs open. 

The elf made a soft sound and Roche slid his hand up the slick thigh until he discovered that instead of balls behind the elf’s cock, he appeared to have a cunt. A very wet cunt.

Fuck if that wasn’t hot.

“Can I taste you?”

“Thought you dh’oine didn’t do that,” the elf said, but he spread his legs as widely as he was able to with the hose around his ankles.

“I do,” Roche licked his lips. “I definitely do.” He looked at the elf’s spread legs and considered logistics with the small part of his mind that wasn’t spinning with arousal. “Hold on, lift your legs, need your knees on my shoulders.” 

Hopefully elves were as light as the man looked, or his back would very much hate him in the morning. Still, it would be worth it.

The elf struggled to get his knees up without taking his hose off, but eventually, Roche was able to duck under his tangled ankles and settle into place. The elf _was_ actually rather light, so he decided it would be nice to spare his knees and rose slowly. 

The other man spread his thighs widely, knees dropping to the sides around Roche’s shoulders. “I believe you promised your mouth?”

Roche grinned and instead of responding, buried his face in the elf’s cunt. He swiped his tongue across the elf’s folds, mapping out what made the other man gasp and dig his heels into Roche’s back. He loved the way his face was getting absolutely soaked, the way the elf clenched around his tongue, the way all he could hear was the low moans that escaped the elf’s mouth, the way the elf knotted his hands in Roche’s overgrown hair and pulled.

Roche gasped against him, tilting his head into the tugs. If it weren’t for standard army regulations, this would have convinced him to grow his hair out for real. 

“Fuck,” the elf moaned, “your mouth…”

Roche felt a surge of pride. It was true he was still drunk and probably not as coordinated as he thought he was, but he’d always loved being sloppy and the elf seemed to like it, or maybe he just liked Roche’s enthusiasm. Because it turned out that elves tasted even better the more you had of them and Roche was maybe becoming addicted.

“You were – fuck – you were made to be between someone’s legs,” the elf said, and Roche couldn’t help but agree. “More, fuck, more, please,” the elf begged.

Roche thrust his fingers in on either side of his chin, and the elf arched against him.

“Gods, your mouth is so _hot,_ I can’t believe–” he gasped desperately, clawing at Roche’s head. “Fuck, if you’re any indication, I should’ve had a dh’oine ages ago.”

Roche laughed against him and the elf clenched tight around his fingers and his tongue before his face was drenched. The elf’s breath hitched twice and then he let out a low, almost soundless scream. Roche hummed in delight, thrusting his fingers gently to guide the elf through the pulses of orgasm. Each clench sent a new wave of wetness over Roche’s face and he lapped it up eagerly. Only when the elf started twitching from overstimulation did he pull back and look up at the man he’d just taken apart.

The elf’s head lolled against the bark of the tree and his lips were tilted up in a satisfied smile. He tugged lazily on Roche’s hair, letting Roche slide him down the tree until his legs were wrapped loosely around Roche’s hips, most of his weight still against the tree. 

Roche grinned at him. “And just think – you haven’t even seen my cock yet.”

Speaking of, he was extremely hard inside his trousers, and the elf’s cock still seemed interested in some attention. Roche was grateful he was wearing fairly casual travel wear instead of layers of armor, because it meant that one layer was all that stood between him and wrapping the hand soaked in the elf’s slick around his cock.

“Fuck,” the elf gasped, tilting his head forward until it rested against Roche’s shoulder. Roche watched the elf watch the movement of his fingers over his own cock and then he shuffled closer until he could grasp the elf’s cock next to his and stroke them both together. 

As he stroked, Roche tilted his head until he could run his tongue over the elf’s ear again. The wild moan that drew had him sucking the ear into his mouth, tracing along the straight-edged curve of it. The elf’s hands clawed wildly down his back, pulling him closer as their hips ground together. 

“Gods, you’re gorgeous,” Roche murmured around his mouthful and the elf shuddered against him. 

“Vernon,” the elf gasped and Roche had never liked the sound of his first name so much. “Please, fuck, I need–”

Roche released the ear from his mouth and blew cold air over it just to enjoy the elf’s shiver. “What do you need?” he whispered, breath puffing over wet skin.

The elf’s hips jerked against him. “Bite me.” 

“Mmm, love to. Just ask me nicely.”

The elf whined, nails digging into Roche’s shoulder through his clothes. He hoped the marks would last for a while. This was a night he wanted to remember.

“Fuck, Vernon, please _,_ I need – _please!”_

“Good boy,” Roche growled and the elf’s hips bucked. “Oh, like that, do you? Like being told how good you are as you damn near ride my cock against this tree?”

“Please!” The elf begged, “gods, you’re so hot against me, I want to feel you inside me, want to feel you fill me up with everything you have.”

“Oh fuck,” Roche swore, clenching hard to keep from coming on the spot at that. “Fuck, yes, please. You’ve never had a human, let me show you how it can be good.” He spoke between nibbles against the elf’s ear and the elf swore wildly, scrabbling at his shoulders and neck.

“Yes, yes, gods, now please, please, please–” the elf’s words cut off with a moan as his cock started coming. Even so, he shifted until Roche could slide right inside his cunt in one smooth thrust that clearly sent his orgasm spiraling higher. 

“Fuck,” Roche swore as he was engulfed in a sensation unlike anything he’d ever felt. The elf was cool and wet around him, squeezing so tightly he was barely hanging on by his fingernails. “Fuck, I’m gonna–”

“Yesss,” the elf hissed, his body twitching around Roche. It felt so good, beyond anything he could remember feeling before, and now that he’d been given permission, it felt like all the muscles in his body snapped and unwound simultaneously. He rolled his hips into the elf as he came, and with bleary, half-lidded eyes, he saw the way the elf seemed to be overcome once more, arching and squeezing around him.

“Fuck,” Roche panted, dropping his forehead onto the elf’s shoulder. The elf’s hands came up to wrap around his neck, holding him in place. Roche’s hips still moved in little rolls against the elf, enjoying the way he whined quietly at the overstimulation even as he clutched Roche closer. 

They stayed like that for a long while, pressed together and desperately sucking in air, the tree the only thing truly holding them up.

“Wow,” the elf finally said, breath ruffling through Roche’s hair.

“Wow,” he agreed. “Hope I’ve effectively represented my race,” he joked with a grin, pulling away when the elf’s hand dropped from the back of his neck.

The elf snorted, bending to pull his hose back up and put himself to rights. “I’d say you fared admirably.”

“Why thank you. Likewise. Elven anatomy is – wow. Kinda jealous, honestly.”

The elf laughed again and when they were both as put together as they were going to be able to manage, he grabbed Roche’s jaw and pressed another kiss to his lips. Roche sighed happily into it – he really did adore kissing, and Iorveth was quite good at it – and wrapped his arms around Iorveth’s shoulders.

There was a sudden burst of noise, the dwarven instruments from the party all blowing in sync loud enough for them to hear even at this distance. They broke apart with a laugh.

“Guess that means the party’s over now,” Roche said.

“Mm,” the elf hummed. “If we ever see each other again,” he began.

“Yeah?”

The elf licked his lips, giving Roche an obvious once over. “I give your mouth the highest recommendation.”

Roche snorted, breaking down into laughter. “I shall remember that.”

“Nice meeting you, Vernon,” the elf rumbled in a deep voice as Roche walked away.

He smiled to himself. So far, the best part of this mission was the journey home. He hoped his luck kept up the rest of the way back to Vizima.


	2. Arc 1: Meeting Iorveth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The events of Witcher 2 begin to unfold. Only sometimes small differences can change everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was going to be 2 chapters. Now it's 5, and honestly, it keeps growing. Help me.

In the past four days, Vernon Roche had fought a war, lost his King, broken a Witcher out of prison, and, technically speaking, gone AWOL to find the man who slew his King. Now, he was about to enter an uncertain situation and, potentially, finally meet Iorveth, the one Scoia’tael commander who had eluded him all this time.

With Geralt walking behind them, Roche absently quizzed Triss on her knowledge of the region as they approached the forests of Flotsam. Most of his focus was on the coming encounter, but Triss was always trying to expand her military knowledge and he certainly knew plenty.

The sound of a soft flute rang in the air and only an elf would be so bold out here in the middle of nowhere. “I smell an elf,” Roche grinned. He was ready for this confrontation, ready to finally meet the one Scoia’tael commander who had managed to elude him. Iorveth had killed the commanders of all the other special forces units in the North, but Roche would break his record. It was finally happening.

He, Triss, and Geralt walked up to the tree an elf was sitting in, playing merrily as if he wasn’t Temeria’s Most Wanted Terrorist. Roche took a deep breath, ready for this confrontation to start.

Then he got close enough to see the elf properly and his stomach sank. It couldn’t be. Surely it couldn’t be.

“That’s–” he started to say, turning to Triss. He’d told her the story of his one night stand with an elf when extremely drunk on wine after a party the King had required them both to attend. That had been the start of their friendship, but as close as they were, he was glad he was cut off before he could reveal what was now clearly his greatest shame.

“Vernon Roche,” said the elf he’d last seen leaning against a tree, satiated and content, “Special Forces Commander for the last 4 years. Servant of the Temerian King. Responsible for the Pacification of the Mahakaman Foothills. Hunter of elves, murderer of women and children. Twice decorated for valor on the field of battle,” Iorveth clapped mockingly.

As Iorveth spoke, Roche felt himself breathing faster, adrenaline pumping through his veins. There was no way Iorveth could actually be the same elf he had slept with. It was impossible. It had to be.

“Iorveth,” he snarled, “a regular son of a whore!” He met Iorveth’s glare evenly but his breath caught in his throat at the sheer _betrayal_ in Iorveth’s gaze.

At least he wasn’t the only one blindsided by this.

“I’ve long awaited our meeting,” Iorveth said in a tone that implied that he was gravely disappointed with how reality measured up. “Laid plans, set traps… and now you appear in my forest of your own volition.”

There were too many thoughts spiraling around Roche’s head and he couldn’t seem to stop staring into Iorveth’s eye, his own sense of hurt and betrayal mirrored. 

“You aided the man who slew my king,” he said a sharp burning sensation building behind his eyes. He’d thought so well of Iorveth when he hadn’t know who the elf was, and now – now the creature in front of him _laughed_ about killing his King.

Vile hate rose inside him, a sudden thirst for blood, for payment for the betrayal of his elf being who Iorveth was. 

“Enough of this piss. Die!” Roche flung a dagger at Iorveth and saw the split second of surprise as Iorveth stumbled through a dodge and ordered his men to attack. 

Then they were under fire and only Triss’s magic saved them from getting skewered. The magic barrier lasted long enough for them to retreat, and when Roche glanced back, he saw Iorveth standing on a rock ledge, watching them as the barrier waned – three archers sighting them down the lengths of their arrows.

The barrier fell and Roche watched as Iorveth didn’t take the shot. Instead, the elf dismissed his men and spoke to the Kingslayer.

Roche grit his teeth. Why hadn’t Iorveth taken the opportunity to kill him? At the moment, he’d almost prefer it over the heavy weight pressing down on him with the knowledge that the elf he had slept with all those years ago and Iorveth were one and the same. He had slept with the enemy.

What would his King think if he could see Roche now?

* * *

Their first day in Flotsam was eventful, to say the least. First there was the whole _Iorveth revelation,_ then they walked into town to find two of Triss and Geralt’s friends – including Roche’s own informant – about to get hanged, started a fight to stop the execution, made a deal with Flotsam’s Commandant – who Roche was _not_ a fan of – and finally caught up with friends in the inn before separating to rent their own rooms for the night.

After such a hectic day, sleep should have come easily, and yet Roche found himself staring at the ceiling for far too long, turning over thoughts of Iorveth and what it meant that his elf and Iorveth were one and the same. The problem was, there was too much to think about, but it all came back to the same conclusion – Roche had fucked up and slept with the enemy. 

He tossed and turned, but after the fifth time is mind thought itself in circles, he gave up sleep as a lost cause. What he _really_ wanted to do was talk, but who could he possibly talk to about _this?_ He certainly wasn’t going to wake up Ves – both because Ves was terrifying when sleep deprived and because even if he could bring himself to admit what had happened, Ves would probably just laugh at him and tell him to get over himself and shoot the fucking elf.

And she wouldn’t be wrong to say so. Why should it matter what had happened with Iorveth in the past? Roche hadn’t known and it had been a mistake, but Iorveth was his enemy _now,_ and Roche knew how to deal with enemies.

Except every time he thought about bringing his sword down on Iorveth’s throat, he remembered how that neck had arched beautifully when Roche had brought Iorveth to orgasm. He thought about the way the elf from his past had called his name with a moan and how the same voice had sounded so bitter when spitting out his name earlier that day. He thought about the way Iorveth could have taken the shot when Triss’s barrier fell – and how he _hadn’t._

The fact was, Roche wasn’t entirely sure that he _wanted_ to deal with Iorveth the way he was supposed to deal with enemies, and that was a problem. A problem that could easily get him declared a traitor.

There was only one person he could talk to about something so sensitive. If he could work up the courage to actually admit to it. 

Well, in the absence of the real stuff, liquid courage would do. Right?

Roche headed down to the tavern and ordered a bottle of dwarven spirit, gulping down the first few swallows far too fast. It burned the way strong and cheap liquor always did, lighting up a line of fire down his throat, but it also made the world go a little bit hazy and the task of revealing his indiscretion seemed a tad less daunting.

Only a tad though, so he poured himself another two fingers, and sipped at it, wondering if Triss would accept the rest of the bottle as an apology for waking her up to whine or if he needed to actually buy her some nice wine. When they were in Vizima, the two of them regularly drank the best vintages, courtesy of the King and his extensive wine cellar. But here in Flotsam, the best wine he was likely to find was probably more vinegar than grape. The dwarven spirit would just have to do.

Downing the rest of his glass and stopping at the bar to pick up another cup, Roche headed back upstairs, steps only slightly wobbly. Triss was just down the hall from him, and Roche leaned his shoulder against the wall next to the door to keep himself upright as he knocked on it.

And knocked again when there was no answer. And again. And when he raised his fist to know for a fourth time, the door swung open violently and a white haired witcher glared at him.

“Ah,” Roche said intelligently. He’d completely forgotten that Triss would naturally be rooming with her lover, and Geralt did _not_ look pleased at having been woken up. “Uh, is Triss awake?”

Geralt glowered at him, but glanced back over his shoulder – probably to check that Triss was decent, Roche realized belatedly – and then nodded and opened the door further.

“Roche,” Triss bustled up to him, wrapped in a silk robe, “did something happen? Have you gotten news?”

“Ah, no, sorry. Uh–” he held up the bottle of liquor as a peace offering. “Sorry to wake you.”

Triss arched a thin eyebrow, taking the bottle with a tut as she looked at the vintage. “This is horrible, isn’t it?”

“Absolutely disgusting,” Roche confirmed, and held out two glasses for her to fill. Triss did so with a sigh, and Geralt just blinked blearily at the two of them. 

“Maybe we should talk in your room,” Triss said, smiling apologetically at Geralt.

“Right. Sorry, Geralt,” Roche mumbled, taking a sip of the spirit and shuddering. Weren’t drinks like this supposed to taste better the more you drank of it?

“I’ll be back later. I’ll try not to wake you up,” Triss stretched onto her tiptoes to kiss Geralt’s cheek before looping her arm through Roche’s and dragging him back out of the room.

“Sorry,” he slurred into Triss’s ear as she unlocked his door with a touch of magic rather than trusting him to dig for his key. Probably wise, honestly.

Triss hummed. “What’s got you in such a state? There hasn’t been any news from Vizima, has there?”

“No, no. Nothing new. I just – I couldn’t sleep.” And putting it like that sounded utterly pathetic. He dragged a hand over his face and poured himself some more liquor.

“Thinking about Foltest?” she asked softly, in a tone that suggested that grief for their late King had been top of mind for her.

Which just made Roche feel even _more_ guilty, because of course he _had_ been mourning his King, but that wasn’t at all what was keeping him up at night.

He sat against the headboard of the bed and sipped his drink, thinking of how to start. “I – do you remember when I told you about that elf I met in Aedirn?”

“Do I remember you gloating about fantastic sex for weeks on end? Gee, I wonder,” Triss joked drily. 

“Yeah, well...I – uh, I saw him today. Earlier.” 

Triss blinked. “With the Scoia’tael? Was he one of the archers?”

Roche bit his lip. “Oh right, I didn’t ask how you were doing after the magic overdose or whatever had you collapsing earlier.”

Triss sent him a flat look, sitting on the end of the bed and sipping her own drink. “I’m fine. Thank you for carrying me out of there, even if you did cop a feel.”

“Hey, you have a fantastic ass. If a man is gonna die, it should be with such an ass in hand.”

Triss snorted, an inelegant sound that he’d always liked precisely because it went against her polished image as Temeria’s Court Mage. “You’re terrible at changing the subject. So your one night stand was actually a Scoia’tael. What does that mean for you?”

He sighed heavily. “Fuck if I know. Shit, it was years ago, it shouldn’t even matter!”

“But it obviously does.”

“It’s – I should regret it, having slept with him. But I don’t.” He rubbed his face, “gods, Foltest would be so disappointed in me.”

“Why should you regret it? You didn’t know.” Triss reached out and patted his ankle. “Foltest respected you. He’d – okay, he was never going to like that it was an elf, but we always knew that. And it’s not like he dictated who you could sleep with! Foltest is – _was_ someone who understands mistakes. I mean, we just fought an entire war because he refused to marry Lady La Valette!”

“Yeah,” Roche picked at the bedsheets. “I just – what if – ugh.” Why were words so difficult? “I’m not like, in love with him or anything, obviously. I didn’t even know his name until today. But it’s – I dunno, it would be weird to kill someone who – I mean, fuck, it was _really_ good sex, Triss. _Really good.”_

“So I’ve heard. Many, many times. Also, you think about it very loudly during council meetings, sometimes.” Triss laughed as his face flushed bright red. “So he’s Scoia’tael. Does that mean you _have_ to kill him? Don’t we – I mean, don’t we all have more important things to deal with right now than eliminating the Scoia’tael? Temeria is–” her words petered off and she shook her head. “Fuck, Vernon, what’s going to happen to Temeria?”

He thunked his head back against the wall. “I wish I knew. That summit in Loc Muinne that the King was supposed to attend is coming up quickly, too.”

Triss sighed, “we just have to hope that John Natalis is strong enough to hold the kingdom together.”

“And that none of the nobles decide to do something stupid to claim the throne.”

They clinked glasses and downed the rest of their drinks, both shuddering as the burn hit.

“Gods, this is vile,” Triss grimaced.

“Booze is booze,” he shrugged. Even if it made him want to scrape his tastebuds off.

“So which one was he?” Triss asked after a long silence. “Your lover. Was he one of the ones Iorveth ordered to fire at us?”

“Uh…” 

“What, scared to tell me? Come on! It’s not like I’ll tell anyone!”

“No, it’s not that. Um,” he bit his lip, suddenly unable to meet her gaze. “It was – you know, maybe you’d be better off not knowing.”

“Why?” Triss frowned at him, eyes narrowed in thought. Then, “oh. Oh my gods, Roche, you _didn’t!”_

He cringed. “It wasn’t on purpose!”

“Iorveth!?” she hissed, “you – with Iorveth? Really? Oh, _Vernon…”_

“Ugh. Pour me another,” he demanded, wiggling his glass in the air. Triss did so, shaking her head at him as though he was a recalcitrant toddler. “It’s not like I knew who he was!”

“Did he look different? Oh! Was it before some soldier stabbed his eye out?” Triss looked oddly eager at that, but unfortunately…

“No, he – well, he looked pretty much like – well. Today.” He knocked his head back against the wall again. “Fuck, what did I get myself into? It was just some fun casual sex! I was fucking drunk, he was probably drunk, it wasn’t – aaaaaaahhhhh,” he groaned, pulling off his chaperon so that he could scrape his nails against his scalp in frustration.

Triss patted his ankle again, the corner of her lips twitching upward. He glared at her.

“Okay, okay, so you didn’t know it was him. Somehow, even though he looked no different.” Triss pinched him when he kicked her for that. “So what does that actually mean now? Obviously we haven’t seen the last of Iorveth in this hunt for the Kingslayer. Are you worried you won’t be able to do what you need to?” He swallowed and just looked at her. “Well, that’s stupid. I’ve known you for a long time, Roche, and you’ve _never_ failed to do what needed to be done. That’s _why_ Foltest trusts – trusted you.” She pressed her lips together, giving him a sympathetic look. “You worry too much. It’ll be fine. _You’ll_ be fine.”

“I hope so.”

They finished off the bottle in silence until the moon was high in the sky and Triss was yawning between sips. Roche chased her out of his room and then flopped face first into the bed, wondering how much he would regret drinking in the morning.

He just hoped they could find the Kingslayer and wrap up this case sooner rather than later. The less time he spent around Iorveth, the better.


	3. Arc 1: Capturing Iorveth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Geralt and Iorveth confront Letho, only for the Scoia'tael to come under attack by the Blue Stripes, Geralt makes a decision that leaves Iorveth in an awkward position: Prisoner of one Vernon Roche.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm having a lot of fun with this fic, and I hope you enjoy it!

He had captured Iorveth. He, Vernon Roche (with some help from Geralt of Rivia), had captured the one Scoia’tael who had eluded him for so long.

The one Scoia’tael who also happened to have been the same elf he’d had the best sex of his life with.

His victory felt so much more hollow than he’d thought it would. That wasn’t the only reason he was pacing across his ship, but it was the only one he was willing to focus on. He’d had Iorveth imprisoned in the brig, and without thinking too hard about why, Roche headed down and relieved Thirteen from guard duty.

Iorveth sat in the brig with his back against the hull, seemingly unbothered at being in the hands of his mortal enemies.

“Would you still recommend my mouth?” Roche asked before he could think better of it.

Iorveth shot him an incredulous look, and pointedly said nothing. Roche could read the hurt betrayal on Iorveth’s face, though, and he wondered if all of it was for Geralt or if some of it was reserved just for him. Geralt had incapacitated Iorveth when the elf wasn’t expecting it, enough to make his capture simple, even if the Kingslayer himself had still managed to escape. 

“Don’t be too hard on Geralt,” Roche said. Why was he still talking? He should just shut up and leave Iorveth to stew in his loss, should go upstairs and catch some sleep before he would have to deal with Loredo in the morning. Or better yet, he should go join the revelry on shore, join all the soldiers partying at finally having captured Iorveth.

“What?” Iorveth finally responded.

“Geralt. He probably believes in your cause, honestly, but ‘Witchers are neutral’ or whatever. He’s only working with me because we have the same goal.” Roche narrowed his eyes at Iorveth, “that goal being,” he continued pointedly, “the capture of the Kingslayer _you_ helped.”

“And was betrayed by, as your Witcher proved,” Iorveth said. He tilted his head to assess Roche. “Ah. I’m your lead now, is that it?”

“I doubt you know any more than Geralt does at this point. Not about where the kingslayer going, at least, seeing as he wanted to kill you.” Roche shrugged.

“Then why am I here?”

He cocked an eyebrow, “as opposed to?”

“Dol Blathanna,” Iorveth said drily. “Where do you think!? Flotsam’s Prison Barge!”

Ah. That other thing he’d been trying not to think about. “Commandant Loredo is exactly the kind of man who would claim this capture as his own. I’ll not hand you over to _him,”_ Roche scoffed.

“And what kind of man are you, Vernon Roche? Do you not claim the Witcher’s treachery as your own victory?”

Roche huffed. Iorveth wasn’t wrong. It didn’t feel like much of a victory when he hadn’t even had the chance to duel with Iorveth.

“What kind of man are _you_ , Iorveth? To use a human to do your dirty work? Too scared to get royal blood on your hands!?”

Iorveth scoffed. “Royal or beggar, what difference does it make? Foltest was a genocidal maniac and he died exactly the way he deserved.”

“How dare you!? You, who murder children, you are not fit to speak his name!” Roche snarled, his hands clenching on the hilts of his weapons.

“Ha! As if you don’t have the blood of children on your hands, murderer! You dare moralize when you played the honeypot with me!?”

Roche recoiled, “what!?”

“I should have known. Dh’oine always have an agenda.”

Before Roche could respond, an explosion sounded from somewhere in the port. Leaving Iorveth in the brig, he bolted above deck and shouted for someone to report.

“The Scoia’tael are attacking!” Ves yelled, cocking a crossbow. 

“The explosion–”

“–came from that way, Boss,” Finch, his marksman, finished his sentence, waving towards Flotsam’s prison barge.

“Fuck, half the town guards are probably drunk. Let’s go!” Roche led the charge onto the dock, where smoke bombs had made visibility gritty and arrows rained down incessantly. 

The only reason he saw Iorveth was because he’d dodged an arrow at exactly the right angle. The fucking elf was creeping off the Blue Stripes’ ship, using the distraction to his advantage and Roche swore at himself. He pivoted abruptly, catching one elf in the side with his mace, and darted after Iorveth, who was running towards the treeline.

“Oh no you don’t,” Roche growled, throwing a dagger at Iorveth.

The bastard dodged, but it slowed him down enough for Roche to catch up to him and they faced each other across the beach. Iorveth drew his sword, and curled his fingers, inviting an attack.

Roche lunged, snarling when Iorveth parried his blade and swiped at him. 

The noise and commotion on the docks faded into the background as Roche focused all of his energy on the fight. Iorveth was not an easy opponent, and he took advantage of every opening Roche left without offering many of his own openings. But Roche refused to fail, refused to lose and let this – this _elf_ go. 

His guilt over their past and what Foltest would think of it only fueled his anger, and he pulled out his mace, coming at Iorveth with both weapons at once. Iorveth dodged the sword – but not the mace, and he cursed roughly in Elder Speech as he collapsed to the ground.

Roche leveled a sword at his throat, keeping him from moving.

Iorveth looked up at him with a bitter scoff. “Defeated by a dh’oine. I must be getting old. What now?”

“Consider yourself lucky. Though you deserve torture, I lack the means, so I’ll simply lop off your head. You’ll die a warrior’s death.” Even as he spoke, Roche wondered if he could actually do it. Triss was so certain he’d manage to do what was needed when the time came, but only his tight grip on his sword kept his hand from shaking.

“I don’t regret a thing,” Iorveth said roughly, meeting his eyes.

Roche felt like he couldn’t catch his breath. “Impending death has addled your mind.”

Iorveth’s mouth twitched. “I don’t regret that it’s you.”

He swallowed, tightening his fingers around the hilt of his sword. “Iorveth…” he trailed off, not certain what to say.

Iorveth closed his eye and sighed. “I hated you for a long time, after…” he opened his eye again, “After. But I find hate is rather a double edged sword.”

“Most swords are,” Roche couldn’t help pointing out. At least in his experience, though maybe elven blades tended to be single bladed. 

Iorveth rolled his eye. “After so many years it would be stupid to die from an accidental bolt in the eye. Or worse yet, influenza. But you? You’ve certainly earned it.”

Roche licked his lips. “I didn’t realize, not at first. Then you called me Vernon. I didn’t – I wasn’t a honeypot! If I’d known who you were–”

“What? You’d have done things differently?” Iorveth snorted derisively. 

Roche opened his mouth to say _yes, of course he would have,_ only the words wouldn’t seem to come. 

Iorveth’s eyebrows pulled together as Roche took too long to answer and the silence settled over them awkwardly. Eye darting rapidly across his face, Iorveth sneered, “if you’re expecting seconds–”

“Of course I’m not! Fucking hell, what kind of monster do you think I am!? I’m not – you’re my _prisoner._ You helped kill my King!”

Iorveth scoffed. “Oh, the horror. A murderer is dead. If you believe any elf will mourn that _marbhadh_ then you’re utterly blind to the hate he spread!”

Roche’s upper lip twisted in disdain. He – well, he _wasn’t_ blind. He knew that Foltest had always hated elves and all nonhumans. But still, “King Foltest was a _good_ king! You have no right to judge him!”

“I have every right!” Iorveth roared, “he slaughtered my people by the score, that gives me the right! But why should I expect the King’s attack dog to understand? All he had to do was point and you’d kill every elf you came across, wouldn’t you?”

“That’s not true! I’ve done what I had to do.”

“As did I.”

“Yeah, well _my_ actions don’t leave an entire country on the brink of civil war, which will lead to thousands of innocent deaths and you’ve hardly endeared anyone to the cause of elves!”

“I shouldn’t have to endear you! Our cause is freedom! We demand only the respect we deserve as living beings! Humanity’s refusal to see us as people forces us escalate, because you people won’t fucking _listen!”_

“I _am_ listening!” Roche yelled. 

His words seemed to echo in the air around them as he stared down at Iorveth’s taken aback expression. 

“I’m listening,” he repeated. “I know – I _know_ Temeria has a ways to go for race relations. But reforms won’t happen if we’re in the midst of civil war!”

“Foltest had years of peace and only made things worse! You should know – you personally carried out his orders!”

Roche licked his lips, holding onto his temper by his fingernails. Screaming at each other wasn’t going to accomplish anything.

Then again, what did he expect to accomplish here? For Iorveth to regret killing Foltest? It was obvious he never would. A part or Roche even understood why he wouldn’t, but it didn’t matter. Iorveth had helped kill Foltest and Temeria was on the brink of falling apart, and Roche was desperate to avenge his King, but moreso, he was worried about Temeria. His whole life had been lived in service to Temeria, and if everything he loved fell apart now…

“I do know,” he said slowly. “I can’t change the past. I can’t bring my King back. But I _can_ find his killer. I can do that much for the child that fucking _saw_ her father get murdered!” Iorveth flinched slightly at that, eye widening, and it smoothed some of the jagged edges of Roche’s anger to know that Iorveth _hadn’t_ known that. “That girl or her brother are going to be the next Ruler of Temeria. You want them to respect elves? _Show them_ that you won’t just kill indiscriminately if you don’t get your way!”

Iorveth glared up at him. “I don’t give a fuck about Temeria. I’m fighting for freedom for my people, for a Free Elven State!” 

“Well how the fuck do you think that’s gonna happen!? It’s not like anywhere else is better about elves, unless you’re going to fucking Dol Blathanna!”

“There’s one place!” Iorveth snarled before snapping his mouth shut with a click and a look of self-recrimination. 

Roche frowned. If this was information Iorveth wanted to keep from him, then it was probably important to the Scoia’tael. “One place what?”

Iorveth said nothing, mouth determinedly shut.

Roche bit his lip, thinking through what Iorveth might mean and what the Scoia’tael might do. “Geralt said you sent people to Upper Aedirn with the Kingslayer’s companions. Kaedwen’s troops have amassed on the border to make a claim for the Pontar Valley again.”

Iorveth sneered, “and they will fall before the Dragonslayer’s army.” Then he closed his eye and pursed his lips, clearly annoyed with himself for responding.

“The Dragonslayer? Doesn’t she lead a rabble of untrained peasants? There’s no way they can stand against Henselt’s army. But why would the Scoia’tael care about the – are you _blushing!?”_ Roche asked incredulously. The elf stayed determined silent, but Iorveth’s face was definitely redder than it should have been. “You are! What the fuck, you crushing on the Dragonslayer or something!?” And there was no reason that thought should send something sour twisting through his stomach. “Isn’t she human?”

“So are you,” Iorveth grit out.

Right, that hadn’t stopped Iorveth from sleeping with him. “You said you hadn’t had a human!” Roche accused.

Iorveth’s brow scrunched in confusion. “What? What the fuck does that matter?”

Roche took a breath to answer and abruptly realized that he didn’t have one. Well fuck. Time to change the subject, then. “So the Scoia’tael are supporting the Dragonslayer’s army against Henselt.” He tilted his head, thinking through what that meant for Temeria. “You would never bow to Prince Stennis, though. Or is the Dragonslayer planning on donning a crown?” A muscle in Iorveth’s jaw flexed and that was likely answer enough. 

So Upper Aedirn wanted independence. Aedirn’s only remaining fighting force was led by the Dragonslayer, so they could hardly object. That meant that control of Upper Aedirn, which was really control of the whole Pontar Valley, would go to either the Dragonslayer or Kaedwen, depending on who won the coming battle. 

Which would be better for Temeria? 

_He who controls the Pontar Valley controls the North,_ as the saying went. Kaedwen with the additional resources of Upper Aedirn? It would be a race to see whether Redania or Kaedwen attacked Temeria first if the nobles devolved into in-fighting. Even if they didn’t, honestly – while Boussy or Anais could potentially take Temeria’s throne, their hold would be tentative without the support of the nobles. But if Kaedwen was smarting from defeat, they would only have Redania to worry about; Upper Aedirn would be too busy sorting out their independence to take a stab at Temeria.

So if it came down to Kaedwen vs the Dragonslayer? Sure, Roche would prefer the Dragonslayer to win, even if she _was_ getting help from the Scoia’tael. 

But for the Dragonslayer to have a chance, she would need Iorveth’s soldiers. Roche twisted the tip of his sword where it hovered above Iorveth’s throat. If he killed Iorveth, the Dragonslayer would never get her aid and Kaedwen would be victorious. That was the only thing staying his hand, no other reason. It would be in Temeria’s best interests if Iorveth lived...and if he escaped, Roche realized. Iorveth couldn’t help anyone from within Roche’s brig.

He swallowed harshly, still looking down at Iorveth. “If – if you get your Free Elven State through Upper Aedirn,” he started, “would that mean an end to the Scoia’tael?”

If so, that was – that was game-changing. Temeria’s forests could finally be free to travel through without fear of attack. Without reactionary responses to Scoia’tael attacks, they could slowly work on improving relations with nonhumans, and thereby prevent the rise of a new Scoia’tael. 

Could it really be possible? Everything he’d worked towards, everything he’d wanted – well, more or less – in his reach, just like that? Just for letting Iorveth go? It seemed too easy.

Iorveth didn’t answer him, holding his chin up proudly. The elf wasn’t going to give him anything else, not without more extreme measures. Roche would just have to trust – what? That fate would be kind to Temeria? That Iorveth would get what he wanted, which would give Roche what _he_ wanted?

That was so little to put hope in. But then, when he’d asked Geralt in the La Valette dungeon what the witcher would do if he were freed, he hadn’t had much to go on either – just a gut feeling and a frustration that the pieces didn’t fit together the way people said they did. Trusting in Geralt had gotten him this far…

Roche sucked in a deep breath through his nose and sheathed his sword. Iorveth’s face did something complicated that presumably was meant to portray his confusion, but Roche didn’t have the words for him. Instead, he swallowed and nodded his chin sharply, then turned on his heel and began walking away from Iorveth.

“Vernon,” Iorveth said instead of attacking his exposed back. Roche stopped, turning his head to acknowledge that he was listening. Iorveth licked his lips, a quick swipe of his tongue that Roche wished he hadn’t noticed, and then said, “I would. Still recommend you.”

Roche’s jaw went slack, and he had to turn around to face Iorveth properly at that, but somehow, the elf had managed to disappear. Into the forest, most likely.

He bit his lip and closed his eyes, drawing together all the parts of him that worried about Temeria’s future. All he could do now was hope – hope that Iorveth joined his Scoia’tael and assisted the Dragonslayer and hope that ultimately, this would be good for Temeria.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> marbhadh is Scots Gaelic for killer, more or less. I should note that I do not speak Welsh or Scots Gaelic, though I've used both languages for Elder Speech. Google translate is obviously far from perfect, so if you speak either and have corrections, please let me know!


	4. Arc 1: Blue Stripes to the Rescue!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Blue Stripes join the Siege of Vergen...on the Vergeni side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this fic is pretty heavily tied to the Witcher 2 plot, but I realize not everyone may have played the games! So, important things to know: The Kingslayer kidnapped Triss after Geralt confronted him in the forests outside Flotsam (same battle where you choose to help Iorveth or Roche, and in helping Roche, you capture Iorveth). Geralt is chasing the Kingslayer to clear his own name and get Triss back, while Roche is looking for revenge.  
> The Scoia'tael helped the Kingslayer kill King Foltest in Temeria, but then the Kingslayer and his companions turned on the Scoia'tael and specifically wanted to kill Iorveth. So now it's personal.

After deciding that the Dragonslayer’s victory would be better for Temeria – and after his plot against Dethmold came to nothing, with his men just barely escaping death – it was easy for Roche to order the Blue Stripes to follow Geralt through the passage to Vergen to join the battle – and more importantly, to find Sile de Tansarville and follow the trail to the Kingslayer.

Finding Dethmold’s goonies sneaking through the tunnels was an unexpected pleasure, though the damned sorcerer managed to escape. Roche was sure they’d find the bastard again before this mission was through, but then they were emerging from the tunnel behind Vergen’s walls and Zoltan Chivay, Geralt’s dwarven friend from Flotsam, rounded on them with his sword in hand.

“Hex on you, bastar – Geralt? I thought Henselt’s mob got through the tunnels!”

Roche held up his hands to show that they decidedly were _not_ with Henselt, and his men obligingly lowered their weapons, though there was grumbling and frowns all around. No one liked making themselves vulnerable when they were close enough to the front lines of the battle to hear the roar.

“They tried,” Geralt said.

“Glad you knocked it out of their heads. So good to see you! Incidentally, what’re you doing here?”

“We’re looking for Sile de Tansarville. We heard she was in Vergen,” Geralt’s voice was even, but Roche had come to know him well enough by now to hear the strain worry over Triss was exerting. Roche couldn’t blame him – Triss was more than capable as a sorceress, but against the Kingslayer?

But if he didn’t believe she could be rescued, then there was no point in continuing. So Roche swallowed harshly and nodded to Zoltan when the dwarf turned to him.

“I caught a flash of her noble arse, but only briefly. She’s staying in the house of that other sorceress, what’s her name…” Zoltan said.

“Phillippa Eilhart?” Geralt offered.

“That’s the one. The house is the furthest to the north.” Zoltan pointed, “one more thing...Iorveth’s archers have turned the tide of battle, but Saskia asked Iorveth to close the gates, to trap Henselt within our grasp! Only they’ve surrounded Iorveth! He’s trapped past our line. Help him, please.”

Roche couldn’t help the grin on his face. “It would be our genuine pleasure,” he said, and while Zoltan gave him a dubious look – it was possible his grin looked a bit feral – the dwarf shrugged and pointed them in the right direction before turning back to the battle and barking orders.

“Rescuing Iorveth? This should be interesting, Bossman,” Finch said gruffly.

“Does this mean–” Ves looked a little too excited at the prospect of finally killing the damned Squirrel. Roche pointedly did not think about how he felt more worry for Iorveth than excitement at facing him.

“We’re on the same side right now,” Roche reminded his men. “For Temeria.”

“Dammit.”

“For Temeria,” several of them repeated gloomily.

Geralt shook his head at them. “Let’s go.”

Slaying any Kaedweni soldiers they came across put pep in his men’s steps again, and Roche could admit that it did wonders for his own morale. There was something almost comforting about the clarity of war – the clear delineation between sides, the open expectation of bloodshed, the way all men were reduced to their basest instincts to stay alive...it was much cleaner than Roche’s usual work behind the scenes, serving his King however he was needed.

Still, he never would have guessed that he’d be fighting on the same side as elves and dwarves and whoever else followed the Dragonslayer. But instead of drawing back in fear at the sight of their Blue Stripes uniforms, the dwarves and even the elves they assisted along the way merely nodded in thanks and turned to the next opponent.

“Geralt, take the lead. Men, form up!” Roche ordered, and when they passed through the Verdeni line, they were organized in a pincer with Geralt at the point. The dwarves quickly closed their line behind them, and now they just had to make it past the Kaedweni soldiers. For the first time ever, Roche found himself grateful for the skill of Scoia’tael archers, because the arrows that fell upon the field only struck the Kaedwenis, even though it must have been tempting to take them out too.

Finally, they approached the gate and Roche couldn’t hold back a gasp when he saw Iorveth, back pinned against the wall, fighting wildly and ignoring the blood running down his arm and leg. It was clear from the set of Iorveth’s face that if he was going down, he fully intended to bring as many of them with him as possible.

But he _wouldn’t_ be going down, not today. Not if Roche had anything to say about it.

Attacking the Kaedwenis from the rear felt almost unsporting, but it was effective, and several of the soldiers broke away from slashing at Iorveth to charge them instead – only to end up stuck full of crossbow bolts, courtesy of Finch. 

It all happened very quickly, and finally, while Geralt slaughtered his way through the Kaedweni line to close the gate, the Blue Stripes formed a defensive wall between Iorveth and the rest of the Kaedweni army. The look on Iorveth’s face was not exactly what Roche would call grateful.

Pillow Tits, the team medic, approached Iorveth the way he would a feral animal, which was probably wise. 

“You’re welcome,” Roche said snidely. Wisdom was overrated, and what was the point of victory if he didn’t get to gloat?

Iorveth glared viciously at him. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Surprisingly, saving your ass.” He nodded to PT, “if you’ll let Pillow Tits here look at your wounds, maybe we can actually get back behind Vergen’s lines before all our efforts are made in vain, hmm?”

Iorveth didn’t lower his sword, but he was clearly leaning his weight against the stone walls and PT could see it too.

“I’m a medic,” Pillow Tits said, “I promise, no harm will come to you while under my care.”

“Yeah, Bossman even ordered us _not_ to kill you,” Finch grumbled.

PT reached out for Iorveth’s wounded shoulder, but Iorveth jerked away and Roche just sighed. 

“Look, I’m sure you hate us and this isn’t exactly our favorite job ever, but for the moment, we’re on the same side, so just – fucking hell, you look like you’re about to collapse.”

Iorveth snarled at him, and Roche was honestly starting to get a little concerned about the amount of blood he could see. So, with a heavy sigh, he grabbed Iorveth’s right wrist, pinning it – and therefore Iorveth’s sword – out of the way. Iorveth headbutted him for his trouble, but while the elf was distracted with him, PT stepped in and got a look at the wounds, tutting all the while.

“They’re not as deep as I feared, but we need to stop the bleeding or we’ll have an unconscious elf on our hands,” Pillow Tits reported.

“Hear that, elf? So will you please calm your shit and just let him fix you up? It’d be pretty stupid to die now, wouldn’t it?”

Iorveth bared his teeth, but he didn’t fight when PT pulled out bandages and started cleaning his injuries. Roche still had Iorveth’s right wrist in hand and he kind of forgot to let go, but Iorveth was no longer fighting him, so he probably _should_ release it. But this was the closest he’d been to Iorveth since well before he’d known the elf’s name and frankly, he’d been fucking worried about the bastard. At least like this, he could feel Iorveth’s pulse racing under his fingertips, could be certain that Iorveth was alive and, with PT’s help, liable to stay that way.

While they were occupied, the Vergeni defense line moved forward, pushing the Kaedwenis back. Only there was nowhere for Kaedwen’s army to go, not with the gates shut and Geralt standing in front of them like a one-man army, backed by a hundred Scoia’tael archers.

Henselt, King of Kaedwen, heir to the Dynasty of the Unicorn, Lord of Ard Carraigh, Archduke of Ban Ard, and vanquisher of Nilfgaard, surrendered and a deafening cheer sounded from Vergen’s side. It was an odd sound, the low tones of dwarves, the high notes of elves, and stringing them together, the mid-level shouts of humans. Roche wondered if that sound, that odd harmony, was a sign of times to come.

“Looks like you might get your Free Elven State after all,” he murmured and Iorveth looked down at him with an expression he couldn’t read. “Now we just gotta find the fucking Kingslayer.”

And that would likely be no easy task. Sile was still their only lead, and she could be anywhere in the chaos of war. 

“The Dragonslayer,” Iorveth said, pushing himself up again. “We must support her meeting with Henselt, must show our strength of arms!” 

“What strength?” Ves mumbled under her breath.

“You need rest to recover,” PT said, though his voice showed that he didn’t expect to be listened to. 

“All right, Squirrel, if you’re so determined to backup your Dragonslayer, let’s go.” Roche used his grip on Iorveth’s wrist to sling it over his shoulder, wrapping his arm around Iorveth’s waist before he could protest.

Iorveth growled lowly, but apparently he had enough sense to realize he couldn’t stand without support, even if that support took the form of Roche. Instead, the elf scanned the area before pointing to where the Dragonslayer and King Henselt would meet to discuss the terms of surrender. 

“Move out,” Roche ordered and his men circled around them as he and Iorveth hobbled towards the woman Iorveth was so enamored with. Not that Roche had a problem with that or anything.

“Saskia,” Iorveth called when they were close enough. The Dragonslayer, Saskia, and the sorceress Phillippa Eilhart stood tall, surrounded by dwarven and elven guards, and Iorveth seemed to stand taller just from her presence.

“Iorveth! I’m glad to see you well – your entrance was well worth waiting for!” The proud woman in plate armor who was obviously Saskia the Dragonslayer grinned at him, blood spotting her teeth. 

“Henselt approaches,” the sorceress said, and Roche signaled his men to fall back – no need for them to face Henselt’s wrath. After all, while the King could hardly have been expecting them to fight for him (at least, not without pay, and not unless it was in Temeria’s best interests), they _had_ been working alongside, if not _with,_ him until they marched to battle.

Roche guided Iorveth towards the wall across from Saskia. “Can you stand?” he asked in an undertone, assuming that Iorveth would prefer to appear strong in front of his – whatever Saskia was to him. Especially if he was supposed to be part of a show of force.

Iorveth looked at him through a narrowed gaze, but nodded and pulled away from him, wavering only slightly on unsteady feet before standing at the ready.

Henselt, accompanied by his sorcerer, Dethmold, approached Saskia, a sour look on his face. “You won,” he begrudgingly admitted, “and the victors state their terms.”

“You know my terms,” Saskia said clearly. “You will relinquish Aedirn and sign an act of unconditional surrender in which you promise your troops will never cross the Pontar.”

“Is that all?” Henselt grit out.

“You’ll pay war reparations and recognize the free realm of Upper Aedirn, with Saskia of Vergen at its head.”

“We’ll discuss the war reparations in detail at Loc Muinne, before esteemed witnesses,” Phillippa declared. “We await your decision, King.”

A muscle in Henselt’s cheek jumped and he looked far from pleased, but he raised his head to meet Saskia’s gaze. “I, King Heselt, Lord of Kaedwen, swear before witnesses that I will relinquish Aedirnian borders. I recognize Saskia of Vergen’s reign in the realm of the Pontar Valley and I swear to pay war reparations in the amount agreed upon at Loc Muinne.”

Phillippa smiled, a cold curl of lips on an even colder face. Saskia nodded in satisfaction. “You are free to leave, King. Take your men and go.”

Dwarven guards “helped” Henselt with his exit, tugging at his arms to make him move faster. The King snarled, but he left without further complaint.

“It’s time to go, Saskia,” Phillippa said.

“Yes,” Saskia agreed, and turned away from all of them, walking with Phillippa towards what Roche guessed were Phillippa’s quarters – aka the last place Sile de Tansarville had been seen, and therefore the one lead they had as to where the Kingslayer might be.

Without asking, he pulled Iorveth against his side and followed after them. Iorveth would presumably want to see his Dragonslayer, and Roche had an investigation to continue. Only before they could reach Phillippa and Saskia, the mage waved her arms through the air and a portal appeared. Saskia walked through it without a backwards glance and Iorveth made a discontent sound.

“Something’s not right.” Iorveth murmured as Geralt approached them with Zoltan and the bard Dandelion trailing behind. “The Summit at Loc Muinne may be important, but Saskia would never just _leave_ her people.”

“She just did,” Roche shrugged, “Geralt, any sign of Sile?”

The Witcher shook his head. “Teleported to Loc Muinne. Where’s Saskia?”

“The same. Phillippa teleported her.”

“That’s not good,” Dandelion said, wringing his hands together. “People are getting riled.”

“Dwarves, too,” Zoltan added.

Geralt rubbed his chin. “I’m going to go to Loc Muinne. I assume you two will want to come?”

Roche and Iorveth both nodded, ignoring Zoltan whispering to Dandelion, “thought they hated each other?”

“And my men,” Roche said. “We can return to my ship and set sail as soon as possible.”

“You’ll be needed here until Saskia returns,” Iorveth said to Dandelion, which prompted all of them to turn to him with raised eyebrows. Dandelion may have made a decent informant, but Vergen needing him? That seemed a bit of an overstatement.

But Iorveth’s face was serious, mouth tight with pain, “Order must prevail, there can no strife. The victory over Henselt was an important step, but only the first on a long road.”

“The hymn I composed could help!” Dandelion said eagerly.

“Vergen will need many more songs,” Geralt said, slight smile on his face as he regarded his old friend. “Try not to get into trouble.”

“Who, me?”

“I’ll keep an eye on him,” Zoltan sighed. “You just make sure Saskia comes back. Won’t make much of a free realm without our Queen.”

“I searched Phillippa’s room,” Geralt said. “I have something for Iorveth, but…” he looked hesitant and it wasn’t difficult for Roche to pick up what he was laying down.

“Here, have an elf,” he said, pushing Iorveth directly into Geralt so that they both flailed awkwardly. “I’ve got a squad to check in on. Find me when you’re ready to leave.”

Then he turned away, not at all irritated at whatever information Geralt had found for Iorveth’s ears only. Probably something about his precious Saskia.

Suddenly feeling unusually irritable, he stomped towards the tavern, where barrels of ale had been tapped by celebrating dwarves and elves, and where he would no doubt find his own men.

He could use a pint of beer, anyway.


	5. Arc 1: Road Trip!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the motley crew made up mostly of people who hate each other go on a ~~road~~ boat trip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I literally already cut this chapter up and it's still like twice as long as the others, so uh...enjoy?

When Geralt found Roche to finally leave the new Free Pontar Valley, Iorveth followed behind him, walking on his own, though Roche noticed that another elf stood close behind him, no doubt worried that he would collapse. Roche couldn’t blame the guy – Iorveth looked pale and shaky and obviously Roche didn’t care, but it would be bad form for the elf to collapse on his ship. 

The elf following Iorveth was not the only one there and Roche could feel the Blue Stripes tensing up in anticipation of a fight. He held up a staying hand, trusting that Geralt’s clear disinterest in their feud would mean he wouldn’t bring an attack against Roche.

“The Scoia’tael refused to let Iorveth come alone,” Geralt said, “though most of them are staying here to help keep the peace.”

Roche looked them over. The elf right behind Iorveth was slightly taller than him – which was annoying when Iorveth was already taller than Roche, dammit – and from his body language, he would do anything and everything for Iorveth. Stomping along after him was an elf who wore a red mask that obscured most of his face, but not his glare, which was actually pretty impressive. The elf next to him was the shortest elf Roche had ever seen, and he was also currently unscrewing the cap of a flask. Roche was not impressed.

“I’d say nice to meet you, but I think we all know that would be a lie.” 

The one wearing a red mask over the lower half of his face snarled threateningly. “The feeling’s mutual, _dh’oine.”_

Iorveth sighed, “I gave Geralt my word that there would be no bloodshed between us on this trip.” He did not look at all pleased to have made such a promise, but then, they weren’t exactly eager allies, were they? More like enemies who found themselves reluctantly working towards the same goals.

“We’re all here to find the Kingslayer,” Geralt said. “You don’t have to like each other, but there has to be a truce for long enough for us to find him.”

Roche clenched his jaw, but nodded. “Agreed.” He turned to level a look on his men, and they reluctantly nodded. All except for Ves who looked back at him with a defiant gaze and a set expression. He sighed, “we won’t start any fights. That will have to do.”

Ves might not be happy about it, but she would follow orders. She would also keep an eye out for the elves to make the first move, which was the kind of paranoia that might actually come in handy on this trip, so Roche refrained from rebuking her. Ves knew what was at stake, and she would see it through.

“Hello,” PT waved at the elves. “I’m Pillow Tits, this is Thirteen, and that’s–”

“We don’t care,” the elf following Iorveth closely said. “We may have a truce now, but we all know the blood staining your hands.”

“And yours,” Roche couldn’t help but respond. At Geralt’s _look,_ he added, “we’ve all got blood on our hands, all got scores to settle. If we want to make sure the Kingslayer pays for the blood on _his_ hands, then we’ll have to put those aside.”

“Letho, the Kingslayer, nearly killed Ciaran when the rest of his unit was slaughtered,” Geralt said, and the elf behind Iorveth – apparently Ciaran, which meant he was Iorveth’s second in command – scowled at the Witcher.

Iorveth sighed deeply, looking just as tired as Roche felt, only Roche wasn’t suffering from recent injuries. “Let’s just go.”

“Hmph.” Ves turned on her heel and led the way towards the banks of the Pontar, where their ship was docked. 

It was going to be a _long_ two days until Loc Muinne, Roche could already tell.

* * *

The difficulty of keeping the peace between a ship full of Temerian sailors, Blue Stripes Commandos, and Scoia’tael was not unanticipated, but fuck, Roche hadn’t realized just how bad it would be.

Don’t get him wrong, he wasn’t _comfortable_ having the Scoia’tael around. Ships were never as big as they seemed when there were people you didn’t want to run into on them, and the Scoia’tael made up several someones. But ultimately, he knew that Iorveth didn’t want this to go tits up any more than he did – even with the additional elves, Iorveth was still outnumbered two to one, if Roche counted the sailors – and really, wasn’t it better to have your enemies close, where you could keep an eye on them?

Not, it turned out, if you were – well, actually, pretty much anyone except Pillow Tits. Pillow Tits was actually being _good_ and _following orders._ Ves, on the other hand, while not outright starting fights, was really good at aiming little digs at the elves until all that held them back was Iorveth’s intervention. Shorty kept loudly singing the Temerian national anthem, to the point that even _Roche_ was sick of it, but trying to stop Shorty from doing something he set his mind to meant enduring an evening of “oh, you must hear the latest news about the kids”. For all _sixteen_ of his kids. Finch the fidgeter had taken to carving obscene figurines out of wood and leaving them around for the elves to find. Admittedly, his rendition of an elf getting ploughed was remarkably detailed, but Roche was trying to _maintain_ the peace here.

Silas, his youngest and usually most well behaved commando, kept acting like a skittish doe if one of the Scoia’tael even approached his safe-space radius of the-whole-damn-ship. His fear meant that he was continuously dropping things, and Roche had to forbid him from helping with the sails after he’d dropped a rope that brought a very, _very_ heavy belaying pin down on Roche’s foot. Fenn kept offering the odds for a fight, which was helping exactly no one, and even Roche wanted to punch him for suggesting that a fight between the red-masked elf and Ves had better draw than one between Roche and Iorveth. Thirteen kept loudly and drunkenly offering the elves tattoos, reassuring them that, “I know what I’m doing! Did most of the teams’ tattoos, you know!” The elves were clearly _not_ convinced.

It didn’t help that the ship was potentially haunted. Not by an _actual_ ghost, according to their resident monster hunter, but it sure felt like it when things kept getting moved around without anyone seeing, or lanterns went out when there wasn’t a breeze in the air, or when he kept _almost_ seeing something in the corner of his eye, only to find nothing when he turned.

The elves weren’t really any better, but it was hard to get annoyed over it when his own people were being so damned provocative. It was only a matter of time before blood spilled, and they all knew it. With any luck, it would be something non-fatal, or there would be hell to pay.

Needless to say, things were tense. Which meant Roche was tense. And when Roche was tense, his temper which, in all honestly, was not exactly on the longest fuse in the first place, got even shorter. The journey was only two days, but by the gods, two days felt like an eternity. 

After the fifth time he’d had to send one of his men to time out, only to discover that someone _else_ was already using that time out spot (the crow’s nest, the ship’s bow, the crew quarters, _and_ the infirmary), he was fucking done. 

Geralt, who had probably been done before they even set foot on the ship, had scaled the mast and was somehow sitting at the top without the sailors yelling at him. Roche really kind of wanted to join him, but he had no idea how Geralt had even gotten up there, much less how to follow.

So instead, he decided to camp out in the brig. Which would have been a _great_ choice, except someone had beaten him to it.

“Funny, last time you were pretty eager to get _out_ of my brig,” Roche said, frowning at Iorveth, who was sitting crosslegged on the cot in the cell and apparently – “are you knitting?”

“Yes,” Iorveth said, “and at least your brig is _quiet.”_

“Ugh, tell me about it,” Roche sighed, entering the cell and leaning back against the bars. “I helped coordinate the camp logistics for the Peace of Cintra, but fuck if I can get my own men to behave.” He pushed his thumbs into the sides of his temples, massaging them. What he _really_ needed was a drink, but all they had was the Blue Stripes’ homemade hooch and if he started in on that, he’d probably forget _why_ he needed to keep the peace.

“Why?” 

He looked up to see Iorveth staring at him with a frown. “What?”

“Why _any_ of it!? Why are you so determined to keep the peace? Why fight for Vergen? Why let me go?” Iorveth’s hands were still knitting, even though his attention appeared to be fully focused on Roche. That was actually a pretty cool skill.

“Because it’s what’s best for Temeria.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“Seriously. I – Temeria comes first. In everything. If that means fighting Kaedwen? No fucking problem; fucking Loredo in Flotsam was going to sell out to Kaedwen, just hand over the busiest fucking port on the Pontar!” Thank fuck he was dead. Roche wished he’d been able to do the honors himself, but he supposed Geralt sufficed. 

Iorveth’s eyebrow rose and Roche remembered belatedly that, even though Kaedwen had failed, it was probably best not to discuss matters of state with the leader of the Scoia’tael.

He cleared his throat. “Anyway, if that means sailing with Scoia’tael, then – fuck, I’ll do that too. For Temeria.”

Iorveth tilted his head. “How the fuck did you logic that one out? That makes no fucking sense.”

“Does so! A weaker Kaedwen is good for Temeria. The Scoia’tael fucking leaving to go to the Pontar Valley is good for Temeria. Fuck, even an independent Upper Aedirn is – well, not good, but not _bad_ for Temeria.”

“‘For Temeria’,” Iorveth mocked. “Is that all you think about?”

“Is freedom for elves all _you_ think about!?” he shot back. 

They both went quiet for a moment as they realized the answer for both of them was a rather pathetic _yes._

“Well, not _all,”_ Roche tried to reason with himself. “I think about booze a lot. And wine. And...uh.”

“Sex,” Iorveth offered. “You dh’oine are obsessed with sex.”

“Yes!” Roche snapped his fingers. “I think about sex! A lot! Maybe even more than Temeria!”

Iorveth tilted his head from side to side with a considering look. “Not... _more_ than…” He bit his lip as he thought and Roche suddenly found himself licking his own lips, mouth dry.

He cleared his throat. “I mean, sex _can_ be a matter of state. Like with the royal bastards. But that’s not the same. I think about – uh, I think about–” Why was he having a hard time coming up with thoughts of sex that weren’t connected to thoughts of Temeria?

“I think of you,” Iorveth said softly, then seemed to realize what he said and his eye widened in horror.

“Yeah,” Roche said hoarsely. “Me too.”

There was a long moment of charged silence, and Roche found himself focusing on Iorveth’s hands, which were still automatically moving through the motions of knitting. He watched Iorveth’s long fingers manipulate the needles until Iorveth had completed a full row, and then those hands set the knitting aside.

Roche blinked and looked up to Iorveth’s face, only to suddenly find it much closer than expected, those same fingers cupping his face and pulling him up to meet Iorveth’s mouth. He melted into the kiss, wrapping his arms around Iorveth’s waist to pull him closer. Iorveth’s fingers slid up until they could knock aside his chaperon, and when they encountered the closely cropped hair on the sides of his head, Iorveth made a disappointed sound into his mouth that had him chuckling. He tilted his head to try to get Iorveth’s hands into the longer hair on the top of his head, and the sensation of Iorveth’s blunt nails scratching across his scalp as fingers tangled in his hair had him moaning.

He sucked on Iorveth’s lower lip, moving one hand in a long slide from the small of Iorveth’s back to his neck. Iorveth arched into it, sighing against him, a soft, pleased exhale that felt better than air when he breathed it in. Roche didn’t know what he was doing, but he didn’t want to stop, didn’t want to go back to reality, not when Iorveth’s lips were so plush, chapped and rough and eager in a way Roche hadn’t had anyone be in a long time. Ioveth’s tongue was clever and teasing, and he sucked on it, something almost like desperation rising in him. 

Iorveth had one hand tangled in his hair and the other fisted in the front of his armor, pulling him closer as if there was anywhere left to go. That didn’t stop him from trying to get closer.

It had never been difficult to recall his last time with Iorveth. Indeed, of all his memories, it was probably the one he accessed most often, either in his dreams or when – well. Kissing Iorveth again was just as good as he’d always wondered, and right now, he didn’t even care about who Iorveth was, not when he could slide a hand up Iorveth’s neck and thumb over one of those pointed ears.

“Fuck,” Iorveth gasped against him, biting lightly across his jaw. The pressure wasn’t enough to leave a mark, but gods, he wished it were, wished simultaneously both to have evidence of this and to never acknowledge the reality around them, where they couldn’t just do _this_ all the time.

He had just wrapped his mouth around the tip of Iorveth’s ear when the whole ship rocked with an explosion from somewhere above deck. They each pulled away with a gasp, meeting each other’s gaze for a split second before darting towards the stairs.

When they emerged above deck, they were met with a thick black cloud of smoke blowing into their faces. There was something in the smoke that caused Roche’s eyes to sting and burn and he coughed, heaving for air, but every breath only made it worse and he found himself bent over, clutching at Iorveth’s arm.

“Oh fuck,” he very distinctly heard Fenn said.

“FENN!” he roared – or tried to. Instead, he inhaled a mouthful of smoke and broke down choking. 

“Whoops,” a soft voice said, just barely audible over the sounds of Roche and Iorveth hacking and wheezing.

Iorveth snarled something in Elder Speech that made Roche cringe and he couldn’t even understand it, so it must have been good. 

“Hold on,” he vaguely heard Geralt say, and then he was getting knocked back onto his ass as an unseen force blew the smoke away. Geralt stood in the center of the clear air, hand still partially curled into a sign. 

Someone Roche couldn’t make out through teary eyes shoved a waterskin against his mouth and he swallowed automatically. The drink was a relief, but his eyes still stung and watered and finally, someone tilted his head back and poured water over his eyes. He heard sputtering that indicated that Iorveth had likely received the same treatment next to him – _right_ next to him, actually. He could feel warmth from Iorveth’s body heat all down his side and when he broke down coughing again, he let his head fall onto Iorveth’s shoulder as he gasped for air.

There was some reason he shouldn’t do that, but at the moment, he couldn’t seem to remember much of anything that wasn’t Iorveth pressed against him or pain and coughing and wheezing, and one of those was much preferred.

“What. the. Fuck.” Geralt growled, and oh, that meant the Witcher was the one who had washed the smoke out of their eyes. He would have to do something nice for the Witcher, just for that. Maybe offer to help with gift shopping for Triss. The last time Geralt had tried, he’d gotten an atrociously ugly necklace that had given Triss a rash and turned her skin green. She’d thrown it from the castle wall as she’d regaled him with the story, and Roche had laughed his ass off.

“I’m so sorry, sir,” Fenn said, and his mind abruptly refocused. Right. This horrible experience was _someone’s fault._

“Fenn,” he snarled, though the way his breath hitched halfway through probably hadn’t made it as threatening as he’d wanted.

“Taredd,” Iorveth’s growl was much more impressive and the short elf – Taredd, he assumed – shrunk in on himself.

“Tha mi duilich, Iorveth.” The elf’s voice was deeper than Roche had expected.

“What even happened? What did you _do!?”_

“Well,” Fenn dragged the word out, “I, uh, I was experimenting with formulas, you know, and I thought, what if I mix saltpeter powder with a grapeshot bomb? And uh, well–”

“Why the fuck would you–?” Iorveth swore, staring at Fenn in horrified awe. Roche understood. He too was often awed by how incredibly stupid his supposedly ace team was.

“That’s not what the explosion was, though.” He knew that for certain, because this was not actually the first time one of the Blue Stripes had experimented with grapeshot bombs. There was usually a lot less smoke and a lot more _boom._

“I know! I don’t know how I ended up with pepper powder and a smoke bomb! I swear, I picked up saltpeter and grapeshot! Shortstack over there can confirm!”

His and Iorveth’s heads moved practically in sync to stare at the short elf. “Uh. I mean – he definitely thought it was saltpeter?”

“And you know this because?” Iorveth grit out.

“Ah. Well. I didn’t actually think anyone could be that stupid!” Taredd’s arms waved through the air. “And I. may have, sort of...said that. To him.”

Roche sighed explosively. Fucking Fenn, never could turn down a challenge. 

“What part of ‘keep the peace’ do you fail to understand!?” he said in exasperation. “Why would you experiment with bombs right now!? As we head to a Peace Summit!?”

“Uh–” 

“And how the fuck did the supplies get shifted!?”

“...the ghost?” Fenn shrugged meekly.

“Ah,” Iorveth said, and Roche realized that his head was still leaning against Iorveth’s shoulder. 

He removed himself quickly, turning to glare at the elf. “Ah? Ah _what!?”_

“The ghost. Rinn!” Iorveth called and Roche would _swear_ there was no one standing next to him a moment ago, but now there was a young elven woman with white blonde hair right at his elbow. 

He jerked in surprise, falling into Iorveth, whose hand automatically rose to brace against his back before he could overbalance entirely. His voice was shrill when he yelled, “what the fuck!? Where the fuck did you come from?”

She didn’t speak, but she raised her gloved hands and, very meticulous, signed _here_ in the sign language that the Blue Stripes had specifically developed to communicate with each other in the field.

“What the fuck!?” was all he could think to say.

“Rinn,” Iorveth sighed, and the woman shrugged, her hands moving through signs that Roche couldn’t recognize now. Iorveth watched her hands, and then responded, “keeping the bombs out of reach I could understand, but why the pepper?”

Rinn just shrugged again. 

Roche groaned, pushing himself up to his feet and squinting against the immediate pounding in his head that caused. “You,” he turned menacingly towards Fenn, the only one of the culprits that he actually had any authority over. Fenn actually shied back, and Roche bared his teeth. “You, I will deal with later. For now, you will clean every speck of mess on this deck. I had better be able to see my gods damned reflection in it, Fenn!”

“Yes, sir,” Fenn squeaked.

He whirled back around on Rinn. “And you – where did you come from? You were _not_ on this ship before.”

“Ah,” Iorveth said.

The snarl felt frozen on his face as he rounded on Iorveth. “You snuck a _spy_ onto _my ship!?_ One that knows _my squad’s_ language!? How the fuck is that part of a truce?”

Iorveth sighed. “She wasn’t _supposed_ to be here.” He said nothing in response to the rest of Roche’s question, Roche noticed.

He also noticed that the men around them shifted uneasily, preparing themselves to fight and _no,_ that’s the last thing he wanted. He deliberately took a deep breath and let it out slowly before responding. 

“All right. Obviously we need to re-establish a few things.” He took a step back, away from Iorveth, though he gave the elf a hard look to show that they _would_ be coming back to this later. “For the time being, we need each other’s help. You need a way to get into the summit without getting slaughtered, we need access to the Dragonslayer’s sorceress to find the Kingslayer. We all want the Kingslayer to die, so channel your gods damned energy that way. We have a _truce,”_ he pointedly met the eyes of every one of his squad. “I expect you to respect that. If for no other reason than because if you don’t, I’ll tie you to an anchor and leave you here while the rest of us get vengeance.”

He moved his glare onto each of the elves, and felt rather proud of himself when Taredd quailed under his gaze.

Iorveth barked something in Elder Speech and it was really beginning to annoy Roche that he couldn’t understand what was being said. Maybe he should ask for lessons while he had the chance. 

The elves looked satisfactorily shamefaced, even the red-masked one who Roche had never seen any emotion other than _angry_ on. Good. Maybe they would actually be able to survive the journey to Loc Muinne. 

When Iorveth was finished, Roche nodded. “Good. Dismissed!”

The Blue Stripes, and the Temerian sailors on deck all saluted him, some notably closer to regulation than others. When had Thirteen’s salute, prominently displaying his FUCK THE ARMY tattoo, become more comforting than offensive?

The elves all pointedly waited for Iorveth to nod before marching off deck. Or, well, the three elves he’d _known_ about marched off deck. The new one, Rinn, seemed to just...disappear? Roche would swear he hadn’t blinked, but she’d been there one instant and gone the next.

Gods, what he wouldn’t give for a spy like that. Didn’t make it any more comforting that apparently _Iorveth_ had been using said spy against them, but still. He could appreciate skill.

Once the deck was clear, aside from the night crew working the sails, he turned to Iorveth, hands on his hips and a distinctly _unimpressed_ look on his face. 

Iorveth, the fucking bastard, rolled his eyes and gestured dramatically towards the hold in an _after you_ manner. 

He scoffed and turned on his heel, leading the way back to the brig, where they had the best chance for privacy for this fight.

Iorveth caught up to him and strode beside him, and it suddenly struck Roche. There was a time he never would have turned his back on a Scoia’tael. When had that changed?

He didn’t know. His uncertainty only fueled his anger, and now that they were out of sight of their men – and therefore less likely to set off the powder keg – he rounded on Iorveth.

_“Explain,”_ he snarled.

“What?” Iorveth blinked.

“The _spy!_ There were only three elves with you from Vergen until we set sail. How did she get on board!? Where the fuck did she go? How did you not know she was here!?”

Actually, how had _Geralt_ not known she was there? _Had_ he known? Roche made a note to ask him later.

Iorveth pinched the bridge of this nose, as if this were a casual conversation and not something that had Roche’s blood boiling hot.

“I’ve learned not to ask how Rinn manages things that should be impossible. When your men started whispering about ghosts, I suspected, but I didn’t actually know until she appeared on deck.”

“And the sign language? How does she know our signs!?”

“I didn’t know she _did._ She probably picked it up observing you,” Iorveth shrugged.

“Obse – Ob _serving_ me!? You – gaaaah!” Roche roared.

“Oh, get over yourself! Like you don’t have spies on me?” Iorveth threw his hands up in the air.

“Of course I did! You were a direct threat to Temeria!”

“And _you,”_ Iorveth was suddenly up in his space, poking him in the chest, “have been a threat to elven freedom since you took command of the Blue Stripes!”

Roche’s temper boiled over and he grabbed Iorveth’s wrist, wrenching it to the side and twisting it. Iorveth growled, turning with the movement and shoving back against him. He reeled back when Iorveth’s headbutt bloodied his nose and lip, but he just spat the blood in Iorveth’s face and kicked out at him.

Iorveth jumped over his leg like a damned light-footed elf, but Iorveth’s injuries had only had a few hours to close and it was clear that landing jarred his leg badly. Roche took advantage, tackling Iorveth to the floor. They landed with grunts and groans, elbows and heels of palms and knees striking anywhere they could. 

Was it a fair fight? No.

Did Roche care? Also no. Iorveth had been asking for it.

He didn’t realize he was hard until Iorveth twisted his hips against Roche’s own and suddenly there was a burst of pleasure that he hadn’t been expecting. Iorveth grabbed the opening, rolling them until he was atop Roche. Roche tried to buck, but Iorveth’s hold was firm and he snarled.

Iorveth’s legs were sprawled over his, trapping them in place, and Iorveth caught his hands, pinning them next to his head. So, with the only weapon he had left, he stretched his neck out and bit down hard on the exposed skin where Iorveth’s shoulder next his neck.

Iorveth _shuddered_ and his weight shifted, suddenly reminding Roche that he was actually _very_ hard and friction would be wonderful, and it was the easiest thing in the world to grind his hips up against Iorveth’s with the little bit of leverage he had. He sank his teeth deeper into Iorveth’s shoulder, unsure if the iron tang on his tongue was from his own split lip or if he had broken Iorveth’s skin. He didn’t much care either way, and from the way Iorveth rocked back down against him, the elf was pretty okay with it too.

Iorveth released his wrists, twisting a hand into his hair and abruptly reminding him that he’d never put his chaperon back on after their earlier activity in the brig. Thinking of it had him releasing Iorveth’s shoulder from his mouth, only to nip at the skin next to the impression of his teeth, working his way slowly up to Iorveth’s mouth. Now that his hands were free, he scrabbled at Iorveth’s armor, trying to find his way to skin. 

Their kiss was anything but soft, tainted with blood and accompanied by hard nibbles and rough sucking. It sent Roche’s pulse racing until it pounded in his ears and all of his focus narrowed down to Iorveth and the ways they fit together and how _good_ it felt to both hurt and bring pleasure to Iorveth, until there was little difference between the two. 

Iorveth’s free hand – the one not tangled in and tugging on his hair – scratched fruitlessly over the ties to his armor. “Wearing too fucking much,” Iorveth mumbled against him and he snorted.

“One to talk,” Roche said into Iorveth’s mouth. Since he wasn’t having any luck getting through Iorveth’s layers, his hands came up instead to frame Iorveth’s head, stroking deliberately over the pointed ears. 

“Oh!” Iorveth gasped, jerking against him. Roche smirked, lightly squeezing the points of Iorveth’s ears and his whole body twitched, one hand clawing down Roche’s side. 

If his hands alone got that reaction, Roche _had_ to get his mouth on those ears. He turned Iorveth’s chin to the side and stretched his neck until he could lick a broad stripe along the outer shell of the ear.

Iorveth made a soft, desperate noise and the hand tangled in his hair shook. He laughed, a quick huff of amusement that sent cool air over wet skin and Iorveth’s hand on his side pushed his armor out of the way until Iorveth could grab a handful of his ass and pull him against the elf’s hips, guiding their rhythm.

Small breathy sounds fell from Iorveth’s lips as Roche sucked the ear into his mouth, and he closed his eyes to savour them, each new moan sending the pleasure bubbling in his belly coiling higher and higher. Their hips rocked roughly together, and in a sudden moment of clarity, Roche realized he was about to come, just from this. 

Well, he refused to be alone in that, so he sucked harder on Iorveth’s ear, flicking his tongue across the tip and biting ever so lightly along the edge of it.

Iorveth’s nails dug into his ass cheek, the elf’s grip tight and bruising and he loved it, loved that he would have some sign that this was really happening, that even though there was still anger simmering in his blood, just laying here rocking against Iorveth felt so much better than anything he’d had in so, so long. He moaned, long and loud, right into Iorveth’s ear and his hips bucked as white hot pleasure burned through his body, making him arch and gasp. He was vaguely aware of Iorveth shuddering above him, then Iorveth ducked his head down to hide his face against Roche’s neck and something about that felt _nice_ and _grounding_ and Roche let himself relax into the maelstrom washing over him.

When the world came back into focus, his limbs still twitched with residual pleasure and he felt loose and languid, enjoying the weight of Iorveth over him, the press of the wooden floor beneath him, even the mess cooling in his hose felt nice for the moment. He exhaled slowly and let his eyes fall closed, just luxuriating in the feeling.

Roche wasn’t sure how much time had passed when he opened his eyes again, but he finally moved, blinking down at the head on his chest. “That was…” 

“A terrible mistake,” Iorveth filled in. 

“That too. But also–”

“Yeah,” Iorveth agreed. It had been fucking _good. Again._

Would it always be like that?

Not that this would ever happen again. It shouldn’t have even happened now, but Roche couldn’t regret it. Not when his limbs still felt lazy with pleasure and Iorveth’s weight rested over him, a grounding comfort even though the floor of the brig was not exactly comfortable and his body was covered in bumps and bruises that he was sure he’d be feeling later.

“Wonder which of us the betting pool has as having won.”

“What?” Iorveth twisted to make a face at him, but the elf didn’t seem terribly interested in moving and Roche was more than okay with that.

“Well, they knew we were coming down here to have it out.”

“Pretty obvious, yeah.”

“And Fenn may have been cowed for a good three seconds, but he’s definitely back to collecting bets by now. I’m just wondering if the odds for who’s victorious are completely predictable – my men backing me and your men backing you – or if anyone’s decided to get interesting about it. Bet on the devil, so to speak.”

Iorveth snorted. “Offense fully intended, but there’s no way my elves are betting on you.”

“Rude. What about the ninja one? She seems...well, I don’t know what she seems like, but she might bet on me.”

“Only if I’ve pissed her off. Which – yeah, okay, maybe. But I won anyway, so whatever.”

“Did not.”

“Did so.”

“I don’t exactly feel like I _lost,”_ Roche said.

“Well, I definitely didn’t lose.”

“Hmmm...call it a draw?”

Iorveth clicked his tongue, “nah, I definitely won.”

Iorveth’s grin was infectious, and Roche laughed, “gods, you’re such a fucking bastard.”

“Pot, kettle, all that.”

“Takes one to know one.”

“I do believe that’s what I just said.”

“Yeah, but you said it, so therefore it was wrong,” Roche shrugged, a shit-eating grin on his face.

“You’re lucky your mouth has other uses, because wit is clearly not among your skill.”

“False. I am both witty _and_ talented, thank you very much.” He sucked on his lip for a moment before offering, “I could refresh your memory, if there’s any doubt.”

Iorveth sucked in a breath, biting his lip as his gaze drifted down to Roche’s mouth. Roche licked his lips helpfully and watched Iorveth’s eye trace the movement. Iorveth opened his mouth, but took a moment to finally respond, “I am not taking my hose off in your brig.”

Roche snorted. “Lucky for you, I have the Captain’s cabin. As a guest of equivalent rank, it’s only proper for me to offer the room to you as well,” he smirked.

“Of course,” Iorveth nodded, pulling himself to his feet and offering a hand to Roche. “Only proper.”

Roche clasped Iorveth’s hand in his and let Iorveth do all the work in pulling him to his feet, just because he could. Iorveth didn’t even seem to notice and Roche wondered what it was like to have that kind of strength. And yet, their grappling had been on even footing, the two of them a match for each other, so maybe strength wasn’t everything. 

He grimaced as the mess in his hose tried to sneak down his leg. “Yeah, we need to clean up. Immediately.”

Again, Iorveth dramatically gestured for Roche to lead the way and Roche rolled his eyes, scooping up his chaperon and plopping it on his head. They were silent as they walked up the stairs onto the deck again, and then into the Captain’s cabin under the helm. It was awkward, walking with soaked hose past sailors who saluted him as he passed, eyeing the way Iorveth walked next to him with some trepidation. 

Roche kept his face as blank as possible, nodding back to each sailor and absently glad that his squad wasn’t on deck. Finally, he pulled open the door to the Captain’s cabin and there was an awkward moment where he and Iorveth tried to walk through the door at the same time, but eventually, they’d both squeezed in and closed the door behind them.

The cabin was actually quite nice, if not a bit cluttered. The actual Captain of this ship – currently bunking with his crew down below – had stuck furniture in every spare space, but there was a nice, large bed set into one of the walls, hidden behind Temerian blue drapes for privacy. More importantly – well, for the immediate moment – there was a pitcher of water and a bowl set on a table and Roche immediately started stripping off his armor, eager to get out of his soiled hose.

Iorveth joined him, unbuckling leather until he could pull off layer after layer. No wonder Roche hadn’t been able to get his hands on skin earlier. They both wore far too much armor to make that an easy thing.

Which meant he should take advantage of Iorveth naked in front of him, he decided. First, though, he wiped himself off and rinsed out his hose, squeezing the water out and draping it over a chair to dry. Iorveth slung his green hose next to Roche’s and stood there in nothing but his bandana, a challenging eyebrow raised.

Roche smirked and wet a cloth, dropping it onto the table beside the bed so that he wouldn’t have to get up later. Then he lay flat on the bed, tucking a pillow under his head, and beckoned Iorveth towards him. There was hesitation on Iorveth’s face for a split second, before he seemed to decide to just enjoy the evening and he crawled up Roche’s body slowly until he could kneel over Roche’s face.

Roche curled his hands around the backs of Iorveth’s thighs, sliding them slowly up the hairless skin, pulling Iorveth down onto his face. Iorveth sighed as Roche licked across his cunt, lapping up the wetness that had gathered. He sank his fingers into Roche’s hair again, letting his legs go lax so more of his weight rested on Roche, and Roche hummed, pleased. He licked tiny little circles around Iorveth’s clit, then closed his lips around it to suck. 

Iorveth gasped, bucking against his face and his chin was covered in slick where the lips of Iorveth’s cunt rested against it. Fuck, but he needed to taste that again, so Roche shifted until he could lap and suck at Iorveth’s labia, light and teasing at first, but as Iorveth tugged on his hair and ground against his face, he gave in and thrust his tongue up into Iorveth.

Iorveth moaned, muffling the noise by stuffing his own fingers in his mouth. Roche groaned, eyes falling shut even though the view up Iorveth’s naked body was wondrous. He was only human and he had just come, it wasn’t possible for him to get hard again this soon, but if his body had been able, he knew that he would be embarrassingly hard and aching already. There was something addictive about Iorveth cunt, about the way that he was so very _responsive,_ gasping and moaning lowly with every flick of Roche’s tongue.

“Fuck, your – _nnng_ – your _mouth,”_ Iorveth slurred around the fingers he was sucking on. “I think about this – _fuck!_ – far too often, gods, nothing like this, it’s _so good,”_ he cut himself off, even as Roche shuddered at his words, whining against Iorveth’s cunt. The idea that he’d haunted Iorveth as much as Iorveth haunted him – mmm, it was delicious and it made him fuck his tongue up into Iorveth harder.

Iorveth’s hips were grinding against his face, and Iorveth’s cunt clenched around his tongue, and Iorveth’s slick was dripping down his chin, sliding down his throat in a tantalizing tickle. Iorveth was so wet against him, so clearly enjoying this just as much as he had last time, if not more so. Roche wasn’t drunk this time, and while he liked sloppy and eager, he also fully intended to remind Iorveth exactly why his mouth should come highly recommended.

“Vernon,” Iorveth growled out lowly, his voice deep and dripping with lust. It made Roche shudder, his fingers digging into Iorveth’s thighs. “Fuck, yes, yes, _yes!”_

Iorveth’s gasp as he came was violent, his whole body quaking as wetness gushed over Roche’s tongue, his chin, his neck – so many places that would smell like Iorveth and sex later, even after he wiped himself off and fuck, Roche wanted that, wanted to be able to turn his head into his shoulder and _smell_ the evidence that Iorveth wanted him, that Iorveth found his mouth incomparable.

Iorveth slumped back against him, head pillowed against his thighs, splayed out in a way that Roche wouldn’t have thought could be comfortable, but that Iorveth was making look as if he was perched on a feather mattress. 

“Fucking hell,” Iorveth sighed lazily.

“Mm,” Roche agreed, licking his lips before reaching for the cloth he’d set aside. Cleaning up was a quick matter and Iorveth hadn’t moved at all by the time he was done, so Roche had to ask, “isn’t that uncomfortable, with your knees bent like that?”

“Eh,” Iorveth shrugged, then yawned, which Roche hadn’t actually previously known that elves did.

“Fuck’s sake, sleep on the bed like a normal person,” Roche shook his head.

“‘Y’r comfortable,” he just barely heard Iorveth say, sleepiness creeping into his voice.

“Then turn around and lay on _me_ like a normal person,” he rolled his eyes.

Iorveth apparently decided that was acceptable, because he did roll over and sort himself out and soon, he settled over Roche with his head on Roche’s chest and their legs tangled together. It was surprisingly comfortable, especially considering Roche was usually a stomach sleeper. But the weight of Iorveth over him was soothing and it was easy to close his eyes and let himself drift off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tha mi duilich = I'm sorry in Scots Gaelic, according to Google Translate


	6. Arc 1: Road Trip Day 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trip to Loc Muinne continues, with the Scoia'tael, the Blue Stripes, and poor Geralt all stuck together.

After the craziness that was the first day of their voyage – not to mention the previous hectic week or so – Roche was more than relieved when his squad and Iorveth’s elves seemed to have taken their talking-to’s seriously and were more or less behaving. Especially because his thoughts were spinning wildly around his mind and he didn’t have the brainspace to deal with recalcitrant ~~toddlers~~ soldiers. 

He’d woken up that morning feeling more rested than he could remember feeling in a long time. His body ached, but only in small ways that added up to a kind of pleasant feeling of exertion. Iorveth had moved during the night and was now sprawled out next to him, face mashed against Roche’s arm and fingers tangled in Roche’s chest hair. It had felt strangely nice, a sense of ownership in the splay of the hand over his pectoral. He personally didn’t tend to move much in his sleep – his men liked to joke that he looked like he was dead when he slept on his stomach and ceased moving – but maybe there was something to be said for sleeping on one’s back, because he had never felt so refreshed.

It had nothing to do with his sleeping companion, of course. The position he’d slept in, that’s all it was. That’s all it _had_ to be, because Roche barely fucking knew what he was doing right now with the search for the Kingslayer and he couldn’t – _they_ couldn’t – 

But he wanted to. That was what scared him. Iorveth seemed content to treat their actions as a continuation of their one night stand – a lovely experience, but ultimately meaningless. Which didn’t hurt at all, because it _was_ meaningless. What else could sex with his enemy-cum-reluctant-ally be? There was no reason for that to leave a bitter taste in his mouth, no reason at all for that to bug him as he paced around the ship. 

He wasn’t really paying attention when his feet brought him near the infirmary, but when he heard Pillow Tits’ soft voice, he had to stop and listen. Had there been another issue? Had someone gotten hurt?

“– just try to walk away and ignore them. Look how hard Commander Roche is working to keep the peace. He even shared the Captain’s cabin with Iorveth! And they didn’t murder each other! Can’t you try just as hard?”

Roche nearly choked on his tongue at that, but then he heard Fenn’s distinctive voice, “bets on what they were _actually_ doing all night?” 

Pillow Tits just sighed. “That’s exactly the kind of juvenile thinking that has you getting riled up whenever the elves say anything. Just – avoid them. At least until we reach Loc Muinne tonight.”

“I’ll try,” Fenn grumbled. “But I still say the Boss is getting on surprisingly well with the elf, considering. Betcha there’s something going on there.”

Well shit. Roche licked his lips. It was good to know that the rationale people on the ship, like PT, seemed to think Fenn’s insinuations were ridiculous, because Roche did _not_ want to know what might happen if anyone found out the truth.

Not that the truth was anything more than some casual sex, of course. Nothing more at all. Just like there was nothing soft in his gaze as he returned to the deck and watched Iorveth sit on the railing by the helm. He shouldn’t want to go over there, shouldn’t want to join Iorveth for a chat or even just to sit in silence.

They were under truce. That was the only reason they weren’t at each other’s throats. Roche needed to remember that.

He bit his lip and turned, scanning the deck. Geralt was sitting right at the bow of the ship, knelt down like he was meditating. Remembering that there was something he’d been meaning to ask, Roche approached him, leaning against the railing next to Geralt.

“Did you know the elven spy was on board? Rinn?” he asked, crossing his arms.

Geralt blinked an eye open, not moving in what was probably supposed to be a pointed _I’m-busy-here_ signal. Roche ignored it.

“Yes. She has a heat signature like any elf. Hung out on the mast with me for a while,” Geralt shrugged.

Roche sputtered. “You – okay, 1) how the fuck did you two even get up there? And 2) why would you not tell me about a stowaway!?”

“She didn’t harm anyone, I made sure. And she brought me snacks when your people were being idiots.” Geralt was clearly unaffected by Roche’s anger and while that had been true pretty much the entire time they’d been working together, it still smarted. He was used to being _listened_ to, used to being obeyed. With Iorveth and the elves, he expected mutiny, expected that they would chafe at any orders given. But Geralt, Geralt was supposed to be on _his_ side.

Only even he knew that the Witcher’s only side was his own. Geralt did things for his own reasons, and worked with whoever he needed to in order to make that happen. Roche just hoped Geralt didn’t consider him to be in the same category of necessary-ally as Loredo had been.

Why was he so eager for Geralt’s approval, anyway? Why should the Witcher’s opinion matter?

Perhaps because he knew exactly how much Triss loved the Witcher, knew exactly how divided she had been on the decision to pursue Geralt or not after the Witcher’s amnesia. Was it the right thing to do? Not really, but Roche stood by his advice at the time – “if this might be your only chance, then damn the torpedos and go for it.”

Come to think of it, it was probably that exact attitude that had gotten him into this mess with Iorveth.

When Roche didn’t leave after receiving his answer, Geralt opened his eyes with a sigh. “Do you actually want to talk about keeping secrets on this ship? Because you’re not as quiet or as subtle as you think you are.”

“Urk,” Roche felt his body go cold, his breath rattling in his lungs. “You–”

“It’s none of my business,” Geralt said, though his eyebrow arched up in a clear _what are you thinking?_ move. 

“Right,” Roche cleared his throat. “Let’s talk about Loc Muinne instead. Do you have a plan?”

“Do _you?”_

“I asked first.”

Geralt snorted. “There are too many players, too many moving pieces to predict. Triss and the Kingslayer are likely somewhere nearby, a group of mages are trying to reestablish the Council, all the rulers of the North _and_ their retinues and guards are coming – I can’t figure out how the pieces fit together, but they _must._ We’re just missing a piece.”

Roche chewed on his lip. Geralt was right. There was something else at play here, some unknown power’s interests that must have been advanced by the assassinations of Kings Demavend and Foltest. “Who benefits?” 

He’d almost say the Scoia’tael, and it was true, they had helped kill King Foltest, and may have been involved with Demavend’s death too. But there was a reason Iorveth was here now, thirsting for blood. 

Which just raised more questions. Why would the Kingslayer turn on the Scoia’tael when they were helping him? Why even join them in the first place? Whose interests were being served by weakening the North and spreading chaos across the kingdoms?

“Nilfgaard’s involvement troubles me,” he told Geralt. “You said the Ambassador helped you in the dungeons of La Valette castle, but he certainly wasn’t friendly when we met in the Kaedweni camp before the battle. And why is the Ambassador even here? He came to Temeria before the battle, then moved on to Kaedwen, and now he’s coming to a Summit where Redania’s King will be as well. But when Triss talked about the Peace Summit, she said only the North’s Kings had been invited. So why is Nilfgaard here?”

Geralt shrugged, “politics is your sandbox.”

“Yeah, but it’s not just politics. It’s more like – well, like spycraft. Working behind the scenes to make events unfold the way you want to,” Roche stroked his hand over the scruff of his beard. He’d forgotten to shave that morning and the growth was enough to prickle against his thumb when he rubbed against the grain. His stubble always did grow quickly.

Touching his facial hair made him wonder if Iorveth had liked it. Elves didn’t seem to have any body hair, so it must have been a new feeling, the light scratch of it against Iorveth’s thighs. He licked his lips, biting down on his lower lip.

Geralt cleared his throat and Roche was suddenly, horrifyingly, reminded of Triss once saying that Geralt could smell certain physiological changes – such as fear. Or arousal. He swallowed hard.

“Right, so we don’t know anything new,” he said, pulling himself back on task. “Kaedwen’s whole army – well, what remains of it – probably accompanied King Henselt. King Radovid in Redania has been funding the Order of the Knights of the Flaming Rose, so he’s probably got extra strength of arms, too. The Dragonslayer has the sorceresses – and us, I guess – and if John Natalis has any sense, he’ll have brought the Temerian army to protect the royal children. Which means this whole conference is its own powder keg waiting for a match to be lit.”

“And the sorceresses control a dragon.”

Roche blinked, “I’m sorry, what!?”

“Ah,” the Witcher actually had the gall to look sheepish. “It’s a long story. But Phillippa has a dragon under her spell.”

“And you didn’t think to mention this sooner!?” Roche growled, “the dragon at the La Valette castle nearly turned the tide of the war! If the sorceresses have one and fighting does break out–”

“I’ll take care of the dragon,” Geralt said. “I’m going to try to free it of the spell.”

Roche huffed angrily. “What, because ‘Witchers don’t kill dragons’!? Why the hell not?”

Geralt gave him a flat look. “It’s a _dragon,_ maybe one of the last left alive. I will not kill it unless I have no other choice.”

“Great. Meantime, it can continue eating my men like the one at the La Valette’s,” he snarled. They’d nearly lost more men to the dragon in that battle than they had fighting the La Valette’s soldiers.

“Sir!” Ves shouted, pointing into the air where a peregrine falcon was gliding towards them before it dipped down, flying straight at him. He raised his arm quickly, and the falcon pulled up just in time to land lightly on his outstretched hand. Lily had a habit of coming in fast and landing on his head if he didn’t offer his arm and she liked to shred his chaperon, but she was the fastest messenger bird Temerian intelligence had. For her to arrive here meant something big had happened.

Roche pulled the message from the attached scroll case and attempted to unfurl the parchment one-handed. He was not terribly successful, but Ves stepped forward to help, unrolling the scroll for him to read without looking at it herself – always the loyal soldier. Plus, she knew he would share it with the Blue Stripes if he could.

“Oh, she’s beautiful,” the red-masked elf said from surprisingly close by, and Ves snapped the scroll closed immediately. 

Roche blinked at him in surprise. There was a hint of awe in the elf’s voice and his usual anger was missing. Instead he hesitantly reached out towards Lily.

“Sylvar!” Iorveth hissed and the elf pulled his hand back just in time to keep from getting it nipped at. 

“Watch it,” Roche warned, “she will bite you. Quite happily.” Plus, if the elf scared Lily, she would ratchet down and her talons would tear into his hand, and he’d really rather that not happen. But he also kind of needed his hands to check the urgent message.

He moved his arm slowly to try to pass Lily to the elf – Sylvar – but instead, because all birds were bastards at heart, she hopped up onto his head and immediately started picking at his chaperon.

He sighed heavily, and Sylvar looked deeply disappointed not to get to hold her, but everyone else on deck seemed to find Roche’s predicament absolutely hilarious. He ignored the way Iorveth’s grin lit up his face and the way his laughter made something warm bloom in Roche’s chest and instead turned back to Ves and the message. 

All amusement fled from his features as he decoded the message in his head and read,

_Roche,_

_The royal bastards have been abducted. Without them, the nobles were unable to reach an agreement as to succession. Natalis’ position is weak, and several nobles are suggesting that Temeria be broken up along the barony lines. Find the children – and the person responsible. It’s the only chance Temeria has._

_Thaler_

Roche realized his hands were trembling minutely as he read the letter from Temeria’s Head of Intelligence. Temeria’s future wavered on a knife’s edge and everything Roche cared about teetered with it.

“Squad meeting. Now!” he roared, turning on his heels and marching to the Captain’s cabin with a wince as Lily launched herself into the air, taking his chaperon with her. He’d deal with that later – Lily was trained well enough that she wouldn’t head back to Thaler until Roche had penned a response, and the chaperon – well, better the fabric take the brunt of her talons rather than his head. Hopefully it would still be wearable.

But he couldn’t care about that now, not when King Foltest’s children were gone, not when Temeria itself could shatter into a thousand pieces without them. He pulled his dagger and slammed it into the table to let out some of his anger and clenched his fists tight.

Ves hadn’t followed him in, instead going to round up the rest of the Blue Stripes for the meeting, but someone opened the door shortly after his entrance, too soon for it to be Ves. He whirled around to see Iorveth and Geralt closing the door. 

“What!?” he barked and Geralt frowned at him.

Iorveth just crossed his arms and demanded, “what happened?”

What happened? His country was crumbling before his eyes, that’s what was happening! And here were these two, the neutral Witcher and the leader of the Scoia’tael, neither of whom cared about Temeria’s future. “Get out,” he snarled, “this is Temerian business. By your own words, Temeria means nothing to either of you. So get. out.”

Ves opened the door then and Iorveth’s shoulders went tense, clearly not pleased to have Blue Stripes commandos at his back.

“Go,” he ordered them. “The ship will arrive in Loc Muinne by dusk. We’ll be busy until then.”

The dismissal was clear and while neither looked pleased, they turned and left through the gaps the Blue Stripes allowed.

“Oh, and Iorveth?” Roche called, “take your spy with you.”

Iorveth grit his teeth, but called, “Rinn.”

A shadow he hadn’t noticed suddenly dropped from the ceiling and the elven spy landed easily in a crouch. _Bye,_ she signed, in the Blue Stripes’ sign language _again_ and fuck, he still needed to deal with that. Later.

He motioned for his squad to circle up around the table, ignoring the way Iorveth turned back to look at him before Ves closed the door in his face. 

“Sir?” Thirteen asked, sucking on his lower lip. The Blue Stripes all looked worried and Roche wished his news wasn’t going to make it worse.

“I’ve had news from Thaler. The royal bastards have been abducted.” The gasps and swears at that were expected and emphatic. “We’ve been tasked with both finding the children and finding the ones responsible. We’ll start by reporting to the Temerian camp when we arrive. Keep your ears out for any news. I assigned Brigida Papebrock to take care of the children – our first priority must be finding her and discovering what exactly happened.”

“I know you’re committed to this truce, sir,” Thirteen began, “but a prime suspect is right on board. The Scoia’tael helped kill the King – what’s a kidnapping compared to that?”

Roche shook his head. “No, doesn’t make sense, not when there are so many people with better motives. Natalis will be representing Temeria at the Summit, but without the children, he doesn’t have support from the nobles. They want to split up Temeria along their territories, the traitors.”

“Hell no!” Shorty snarled.

“They can’t break up Temeria! It’s _Temeria!”_ Thirteen wailed.

“Splitting Temeria will make us easy targets for Redania or Kaedwen! They have to know that!” Finch said.

“They do,” Roche growled, “but they all want the throne for themselves.” 

Gods only knew why. Roche had had a front row seat to Foltest’s reign and frankly, he couldn’t understand why _anyone_ wanted the throne. Power was all well and good, but the actual business of running a kingdom was nothing glamorous.

“Filthy bastards,” Fenn said. “What – what happens to Temeria when we rescue the kids? They’re bastards, and they’re too young to rule.”

“There are provisions for young heirs in the kingdom charter,” Roche said, stroking his chin. “Their birth status might be a problem, but if Natalis has the kids, the nobles will fall in line, for their own best interests. Or we’ll make them.”

“But will the other Kings recognize a bastard on the throne?” Ves asked, “or should we expect an attack from Redania?”

“Kaedwen and Aedirn too, right?” Silas furrowed his brow. He was still new to thinking about politics and warfare as one and the same.

“Aedirn is having the same troubles we are – with King Demavend dead and Saskia’s army having defeated the nobles, they’ll be too busy figuring out their kingdom to mess with ours,” Finch explained.

“And Kaedwen just lost to the Dragonslayer,” Ves said. “They need time to resupply their army, gather resources. They may attack, but it won’t be soon. Redania, on the other hand, already has a well-funded army all ready to march.”

“Shit,” Finch concluded grimly.

“We’ll worry about that later. Right now, we must save the kids. I need you to reach out to any contacts you have, anyone who might have information that could be useful to us.” Roche tugged his knife out of the table, fiddling with it. “And get some rest. We’ll start as soon as we arrive at Loc Muinne.”

“Yes, sir!” His men saluted him and immediately got to work, grabbing parchment to pen messages.

“Sir,” Pillow Tits approached him, “what do we tell the rest of the ship? The elves are probably getting – um.”

“Twitchy and bloodthirsty?” He sighed, anger and rage battering impotently against the reality that there was nothing he could _do_ yet. They couldn’t get to Loc Muinne soon enough. “Stay here. I’ll talk to Iorveth and Geralt, keep the peace until we get there.”

Even if all he truly wanted to do was stick a knife in someone’s throat. He wasn’t even all that picky about whose, but he had given his word to this truce, and Vernon Roche never broke his word. Unless ordered to, anyway.

Besides, his reasoning behind declaring the truce still held. It _was_ better for Temeria if Queen Saskia was recognized as ruler of an independent realm and he dearly wanted the head of the Kingslayer that Saskia’s sorceresses had worked with. But none of that mattered if Temeria was torn apart. Just as Foltest had always been his top priority, these children were now the most important thing. Roche would save them or he would die trying.

He exited the cabin to see that Pillow Tits was right to be worried. All five elves were on deck, each tense as if expecting an ambush. He supposed he couldn’t blame them for that, but it was still annoying. Geralt and Iorveth stood next to each other by the bow of the ship, discussing something in low voices while his loyal Scoia’tael – Ciaran, Sylvar, Taredd, and Rinn – formed a loose protective circle around him.

They weren’t exactly delighted to see Roche walking straight towards them, and Iorveth and Geralt broke off to face him, both looking distinctly unimpressed.

“Oh, have we earned information again?” Geralt snarked. “What happened to ‘we have the same goals’?”

“Goals change,” Roche said, “but finding the Kingslayer is still a priority.”

“And your news?” Iorveth asked with an arched brow, quite clearly expecting Roche’s answer.

Well, he couldn’t disappoint. “Still not your business. My word was to get you to Loc Muinne – after that, my people have work to do. I’m sure you’ll find a way to keep yourself busy,” he cast a dubious look over the elven warriors. “Though I might recommend staying out of sight.” Roche held up his hands as if framing Iorveth’s face, “I think we did pretty decent on the wanted poster. Spitting image of you.”

“That is the point, isn’t it?” Iorveth asked, unmoved.

Roche hummed, turning to watch as the mountains they were headed towards grew larger. They would have quite a hike once they arrived – while they could sail to the base of the mountain, Loc Muinne itself was located high in the cliffs. 

“We should arrive around dusk. We’ll weigh anchor at the mouth of the river, then head up to the city. I get you through, you get Geralt access to Sile.” And maybe they could finally find the Kingslayer and end this hunt so that Roche could focus on Temeria.

“Agreed,” Iorveth said. 

“Good,” he nodded, turning to go. “Oh, and for gods’ sake, eat a sandwich, will you? You elves are all way too skinny, it’s weird.”

Offended sputtering followed him as he walked across the deck, cheering him immensely. He whistled for Lily and held his arm up until the falcon decided to actually acknowledge him. Lily divebombed him, still clutching his chaperon in her talons. She dropped it pointedly on his head and then settled onto his hand with a nip at his fingers.

“Yeah, I’m sorry,” he murmured to her. She bit his hand when he tried to stroke her breast, and he decided that bribery would be his best options, so he headed towards the galley to get some scraps for her. “Thaler is going to have to wait to get you back. We’ll have a few trips for you.”

He didn’t see Iorveth detach from Geralt and the elves to follow him, but when someone cleared their throat from behind him, it wasn’t hard to guess who it was.

“What?” he asked without turning, feeding Lily a few scraps of jerky. 

Iorveth was silent for long moments and Roche almost wondered if he’d imagined anyone being there. Lily gobbled down the meat and nipped his fingers too, which was definitely on purpose.

“I’ve not seen many humans good with birds,” Iorveth finally said.

Roche snorted, “haven’t met any falconers, then. They go nuts over birds. Me, Lily’s the only one who puts up with me, and I’m pretty sure she does just so she can be an asshole.”

“Birds are like that.” There was amusement in Iorveth’s voice and Roche gradually turned to face him, leaning against the wall and stroking Lily’s chest – without her biting him, this time.

“You didn’t follow me to talk about birds.”

Iorveth shrugged. “You were going to let Sylvar hold her. Why?”

Roche blinked. “Uh...why not?”

Iorveth’s eyebrow arched, “she’s a messenger bird who clearly brought you concerning information about Temeria,” he said like that explained anything.

“Yeah, and? She’s a bird, dude looked at her like she was gold-encrusted, so clearly he’s got a bird thing. Too bad she’s an asshole.”

Tilting his head, Iorveth narrowed his eye, assessing him. “You keep doing that.”

Taken aback, Roche ran their conversation over in his head, but no, he couldn’t figure out what the fuck Iorveth was on about. “What?”

“Giving us the benefit of the doubt. Sylvar looks at the bird with awe, and you offer to let him hold it. Rinn stows away aboard your ship, and you let her stay and remember to kick her out when you want privacy.” Iorveth hesitated for a moment, before continuing, “The Scoia’tael come under truce, and you offer to get us all the way into the city.”

“I said I would,” Roche interjected, confused. 

“You let me go in Flotsam when you didn’t have to. You saved me in Vergen without demanding payment. Here on this ship, you treat me as a Commander of equal rank.”

“I did what was best for Temeria. I have no idea what you’re trying to get at here. Isn’t that shit just like...basic courtesy?”

“Yes.” Iorveth said, meeting his gaze steadily. “Basic courtesy, extended to elves the same way you would humans.” 

“I...what?”

“Not something I ever expected from the Commander of the Blue Stripes. Or from the Head of King Foltest’s Special Forces. Definitely not from the Officer responsible for all Nonhuman Affairs.” Iorveth licked his lips, “but I might have expected it from the Vernon I met in Aedirn.”

“They’re all me,” Roche pointed out, feeling unpleasantly like he was missing the point here. “Are you trying to say – what, I’m not racist enough?”

Iorveth shrugged, tilting his chin as if to say, _yeah, pretty much._

“I...have no idea how to respond to that.” Was he supposed to defend the idea that he was racist? He’d never thought of himself as such, though obviously the elves had different opinions. “I do what I’m ordered to do. I do what’s best for Temeria. If that means working with the Scoia’tael so that you’re no longer a threat to Temeria?” He shrugged, “why wouldn’t I?”

“Men like Marshal Raupenneck would never,” Iorveth pointed out, referring to the commander who had pacified Loc Muinne – by killing every last elf in city at night. Most died without ever waking, without ever having a chance to fight.

“So? Raupenneck was a cruel, bloodthirsty prick. He did what he was ordered to do, albeit probably with more enthusiasm than the situation warranted.”

Iorveth crossed his arms over his chest. “And if you were ordered to do such a thing, for the good of Temeria – would you?”

“Yes,” Roche said without hesitation. And it was true, he _would,_ if he were ordered to do so. Even if it made bile claw up his throat and something unpleasant squirm in his belly. If it was truly what was best for Temeria, he was well aware that he would paint her borders in blood that he’d personally shed.

Iorveth stared at him with an unreadable expression on his face. “I don’t understand you, Vernon Roche.”

Roche blinked. “I’m...surprised you want to?”

Iorveth licked his lips, “so am I.” He walked towards Roche warily stopping _just_ inside Roche’s personal space. Then he reached past Roche – and Lily – to grab a handful of jerky from the bowl. 

Roche held his breath, uncertain how he was supposed to be reacting to Iorveth’s proximity but aware that arousal probably wasn’t the right answer. 

Iorveth leaned back again, tearing off a piece of jerky with his teeth. He chewed slowly while Roche just stared at him like an idiot, then swallowed and said, “thank you. For offering your food to my people.”

Roche gulped, trying to tear his eyes away from Iorveth’s mouth. “You look like you need it,” he said, thinking of the way he’d clearly been able to see the outline of Iorveth’s ribs last night.

Iorveth hummed, biting his lip as he scanned Roche’s face. Roche wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but he seemed to find it, because he nodded the slightest bit and turned away. “Your team will be expecting you,” he said as he walked out of the galley without a backwards glance.

Roche frowned in utter confusion. What had just happened? What had that entire conversation been? What was it about Iorveth that caught him off guard and made him feel like he was missing half the point?

Lily nipped his fingers and he realized he’d been absently staring at the spot Iorveth had been. He cleared his throat and gave Lily one more piece of jerky before heading back up to the Captain’s cabin, where his men awaited him. They had work to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On behalf of my friends who I bugged for bird facts, I feel I must share that you should probably not feed jerky to a falcon. The salt it's preserved with is probably bad for them. That said, this is fantasy and there are only so many good ways to preserve food aboard a ship.
> 
> Also, apparently the saying “Damn the torpedoes” is a very American saying (which makes sense, as it came from American naval history https://www.warhistoryonline.com/american-civil-war/damn-torpedoes-full-speed-ahead.html.) But essentially it means "yeah, I know it's risky. We're doing it anyway and damn the consequences."


	7. Arc 1: Arriving in Loc Muinne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ragtag group finally arrives in Loc Muinne - and then has to go on a long hike just to reach the damn city.

They arrived at the mouth of the Pontar earlier than Roche had expected, perhaps an hour before sundown. Still, the trek up the mountain could be a long one, so he made sure his men had plenty of torches amongst their supplies and offered one to Geralt.

The Witcher took it with a nod of thanks. They would split up once they got to the city, but until then, Roche was _trying_ to make nice, so he even offered torches to the elves. They all gave him a weird look, but Iorveth took one of the torches and Rinn popped up out of nowhere to take the other three. 

“Okay,” he drew the word out, still wondering how the fuck the elven girl was able to vanish and reappear seemingly at will. “Let’s go. Ves, Finch, watch our tail. Silas, take point.”

The youngest Blue Stripes commando gave him a wide eyed look, but snapped into a salute and jogged forward with a bounce in his step. Good. Silas was ready for more responsibility, and this was a good start to see how he responded.

They made it halfway up the mountain before they needed to light their torches. Geralt was pointedly walking in between the elves and the Blue Stripes, though somehow what that really ended up meaning was that he and Iorveth walked on either side of the Witcher. 

The walk was quiet, conversation happening in quiet murmurs with each other, and he was glad for that when it meant Geralt perked up as if having heard something just before Silas held up a fist to stop them all in place. 

“What is it?” Roche asked lowly.

“Soldiers,” Geralt reported.

“The Order of the Flaming Rose, sir,” Silas said, “just around the bend. They’re guarding entry into the city.”

“The Order,” Geralt frowned, “you said they were working for Radovid these days.”

“Mmm, and if they’ve made camp outside the city, either Radovid is expecting gatecrashers or he’s trying to hide that he brought extra men,” Roche said, stroking the scruff on his chin.

“Either way, they’ll never let us pass,” Ciaran, Iorveth’s second in command, said, crossing his arms. The Order of the Flaming Rose was notorious for their nonhuman hatred – and their witch hunts.

“No, not likely,” he agreed. He also wasn’t particularly keen to have Radovid know why the Blue Stripes were here, not when war with Redania was looming on their doorstep. “Is there another way into the city?”

“I know of one,” Iorveth said. “But the mountain pass is crawling with harpies.”

“Oh, great,” Fenn groaned. “Loud, screaming monsters, what else could we ask for?”

“Suck it up,” Roche clapped him on the shoulder with a half-smile. Fenn was still holding a grudge over harpies once stealing ‘the best dream I ever had’. Which probably meant it was particularly pornographic.

He turned to Iorveth, “lead the way.”

Iorveth’s brow knit as he watched Roche, but he turned away without saying anything, heading back the way they’d come. Roche let everyone pass him until he was beside Silas and could pat him on the back. 

“Good job, stopping us before the Order might see our torches. You did good.”

Silas visibly preened under the praise and Roche patted his back again. They walked beside each other until Iorveth guided them around a split in the path that headed directly into the mountainside, which meant caves – damp, harpy-infested caves. Lovely.

“Are you ready to guard the rear against harpies?” he asked Silas.

“Yes, sir!” Silas snapped an excited salute, pulling the faceplate on his helmet down. 

Roche bit back a smile. “Finch will back you up. You keep any harpies from coming at us from behind.”

He squeezed Silas’s shoulder lightly and then headed up the line, delivering orders to his men as he passed them. He didn’t notice the way Iorveth’s elves watched him the entire time, confusion written across their faces. Pillow Tits did, though.

“Sir,” he said lowly, “did something happen with the elves? They’re all looking at you weird.”

“Are they?” Roche blinked. Had Iorveth told them something? Surely not. If he had, their response surely would’ve been more murderous – towards him _and_ towards Iorveth, possibly. “Keep an eye out, like you have been. We’ll be splitting up soon enough.”

Pillow Tits nodded, “I just hope this other way into the city isn’t _too_ long. I hate hiking at night.”

“I know,” Roche pat his bicep consolingly. He would pat PT’s shoulder, but it was too high for him to reach, because Pillow Tits _more_ than earned his name by being the largest man Roche had ever seen – aside from perhaps the Kingslayer. “Carry the torch high and stay in the center. You’ll be our main light source.”

“Yes, sir.”

Roche continued moving up the line of people, checking in with each of his own men and noticing that PT had been right – the elves _were_ looking at him strangely. Ciaran, who stuck to Iorveth’s back like glue, kept twisting to glare suspiciously at him. Had he done something?

Ves was on point now, walking on the other side of Geralt from Iorveth and clearly _not_ pleased with the proximity, and when Roche reached her, she frowned pointedly at him.

“What?”

“Should have Thirteen watching the elves,” she said lowly, though likely not low enough to escape being heard by the way Iorveth and Geralt both tensed up.

He sighed, “the harpies are the bigger problem.”

“Hmph,” she scoffed, but didn’t speak out against his decision again. 

It was a good thing they would soon be parting ways with the elves, even if some small part of him felt heavy at the thought that he and Iorveth would be parting ways and, with the Scoia’tael now able to live in the Pontar Valley as free and equal citizens – theoretically – they might not meet again.

They reached the caves and Roche ordered his team into formation. They formed an elliptical ring, with Pillow Tits and Iorveth in the center, and Geralt and the elves on the left while the Blue Stripes covered the right. Iorveth did not look at all pleased to be in the center with the medic, but clearly Roche wasn’t the only one who recalled that Iorveth had been injured recently, because Ciaran was adamant about not letting Iorveth move.

When the harpies came, they were ready. Several fell from crossbow bolts before they even reached the group, and then Roche was wielding his sword and his mace, cutting harpies down as they came at him. The harpies came in waves, and soon fighting them off almost felt routine – the tense silence as they waited for the next attack, the swift efficiency with which they dispatched the monsters, the crackle of the torch echoing in the cave.

Finally, they emerged on the other side, where Iorveth said a cliffside path led to the city’s outskirts. They continued their journey but now they could hear the harpies coming in the open air and the routine was starting to bore.

So he probably should have expected it when Silas piped up from the back, “how did Loc Muinne fall into ruin?”

Roche cringed. This was not going to be a fun conversation to be had with elves. He opened his mouth to respond, but Taredd beat him to it.

“Humans attacked the Aen Seidhe who lived there, killing every last elf in the city.” Taredd’s voice was bitter and Roche sighed as half his team tensed.

“Just as the elves did to the Vrans who lived there before,” Ves sneered.

“How dare you!?” Sylvar snarled. “Elves arrived to find a dead city falling into ruin! We rebuilt it, restored it! And then humans tore it all down!”

“Yeah? Then why did archeologists find lizard-like bones with sword cuts in nearby caves!?” Ves spat and Roche watched the shock on each of the elves faces as they registered that, though they all covered it up quickly. How strange.

“You lie!” Ciaran yelled.

But they didn’t come here to debate the history of Loc Muinne and neither party was going to change their minds just because someone yelled at them, so Roche brought two fingers to his mouth and whistled loudly, cutting them all off.

“We’re here because of the city’s _current_ inhabitants. Whatever happened in the past can stay there. Now shut up and move out!”

Iorveth grimaced, touching his ear as if in pain. Roche’s eyes automatically followed the movement and he idly wondered how much more sensitive elven hearing was. But it was an absent curiosity, easily pushed to the side as another round of harpies descended upon them.

Geralt whirled around all of them, cutting down three harpies for every one anyone else managed. Roche remembered what Geralt had looked like fighting at La Valette castle, sword moving so fast it could barely be seen. Was that what it meant to be a Witcher? To have that speed and strength to cut down monsters easily?

If Letho the Kingslayer was also a Witcher, then Foltest had never stood a chance. Even if he’d seen the blade coming, Witchers could move fast enough to let you watch yourself bleed out before you were able to stop it.

And poor Anais La Valette had witnessed it. 

What must the child be thinking now, as her kidnappers took her and her brother as pawns in the game of Temeria’s future? He’d only met the children a handful of times, when the King had visited them and their mother while conducting business, but of the two of them, he was actually more worried for Boussy La Valette. His twin sister had inherited the fiery qualities of both of her parents, and while reports that she hadn’t spoken since her father’s assassination were worrying, he was sure she would be like – well, like him, and funnel her anger and fear and trauma into action.

Boussy, on the other hand, very much lived in his own head. He was a quiet boy, shy and bookish compared to his sister’s brash confidence. Roche could vaguely recall Foltest reading Boussy a story once when he had come to report. Something about an avocado dragon? He wasn’t actually sure what an avocado was, but Boussy had decided that was the only word he would say for the rest of the day, so Roche was sure that was it.

If he could remember, maybe he could give the kids that little bit of familiarity. He was sure they needed it.

And he would be able to give it to them soon, because the Blue Stripes were going to find whoever had taken the children and make sure they would never be a threat again. And then he would take the children and _personally_ ensure their safety. It was the least he could do for Foltest.

After hours of walking, Iorveth’s word proved true, and the cliffside path dead-ended against the walls of Loc Muinne. Only the wall had crumbled and all they needed to do was hop over it in order to get inside the city. 

“Glad the mages paid attention to security when choosing this place,” Roche muttered to himself.

“I wouldn’t count out security just yet,” Geralt said, staring up at a high wall where the stone gargoyles came to life and jumped down at them. 

“Fuck!” Roche heard someone swear through the cloud of dust the gargoyle had kicked up, and then a rock fist was hitting him in the solar plexus and sending him flying against the wall, fighting for breath. 

His lungs rebelled for his first several gasps and his world narrowed to right in front of him. Then, finally, his body recovered and his first proper breath of air was as sweet as life. 

“Get up!” Iorveth snarled, and Roche realized that another gargoyle was headed straight for him – except that Iorveth was standing directly in its path, _protecting_ him. He scrambled to his feet, even as his brain seemed to get stuck on that fact and refused to reboot.

Iorveth spun, dodging the gargoyle’s charge and slicing at it with swords in each hand. Unfortunately, the steel did little against the rock and Roche was glad he moved, because the gargoyle smashed itself against the wall where his head had been. 

And then it exploded, stone shrapnel raining down on them.

“Careful!” Geralt called, “they’re vulnerable to silver, and they explode after being slain!”

“Thanks for the warning,” Iorveth muttered, and Roche heartily agreed, brushing the rock from his shoulders. 

Another explosion sounded and another, spreading dust over the area again and leaving their visibility minimal. Somehow, as another gargoyle appeared near them, Roche found himself back to back with Iorveth, fighting with a silver dagger that did actually seem to hurt them some. 

“You have silver?” he asked, even though he’d prefer _not_ to part with his silver throwing daggers.

“I live in a forest teeming with monsters. Of course I have silver,” Iorveth said and then he was sheathing his swords and pulling his bow off his back, notching an arrow and sending it through the next gargoyle’s eye.

“Huh. Wonder if that works for silver crossbow bolts,” Roche said, slicing his dagger through a gargoyle’s arm.

“No reason why it shouldn’t. Or you could have actual skill and use a bow.”

Roche scoffed, “oh please. Crossbows take plenty of skill. They’re a complete improvement over the bow _and_ you can have double bolt action and fire two bolts before reloading!”

“A skilled archer can fire multiple arrows, _and_ you have flexibility and control that a crossbow doesn’t give you.”

“But a crossbow shoots with more force.”

“What does that matter when you can’t get the distance?” Iorveth spun and shot a gargoyle that Roche had been aiming for and he snarled, following Iorveth’s movement so that their positions were now switched. 

He pulled one of his silver daggers out of a gargoyle’s shoulder and pushed back against Iorveth, guiding them away from the explosion as the gargoyle died. 

“You _can_ get the distance,” Roche argued, “it just gets heavier.”

“Exactly! Only useful if your soldiers aren’t moving! Whereas a compound longbow can be used by anyone _and_ more quietly.”

“Hand a newbie a longbow and a crossbow and guess which one they’ll hit the target with.”

“Neither.”

“Ahem,” Geralt cleared his throat loudly and Roche suddenly realized that while they’d been arguing the merits of bows versus crossbows, the remaining gargoyles had fallen and the Blue Stripes _and_ the Scoia’tael stared at the two of them standing back to back with stark surprise.

“Right,” Roche cleared his own throat and stepped away from Iorveth to collect his throwing knives. “We should find the delegation camps near the main quarters.”

“This way,” Iorveth said, and started guiding them through the labyrinth of crumbling ruins that made up the city.

“This place is a maze,” Shorty murmured. Ves had a look of concentration on her face, no doubt attempting to memorize the path.

“This place must have been beautiful once,” Pillow Tits said, tracing the carved details on a piece of shattered column. 

“Are we really just gonna ignore that whole thing back there?” Fenn asked, “‘cause like, the odds–”

“Shut up,” several people snapped at once, Roche included.

They walked through an overgrown courtyard and then, Iorveth held his fist up in the air, a signal to halt. The elves and Geralt all acted like they were listening intently to something, but Roche couldn’t hear anything.

“What?” he hissed.

“Guards stationed ahead,” Geralt whispered. “Apparently Radovid arrested Phillippa Eilhart.” Geralt and Iorveth exchanged a glance as if that were significant for some reason, though Roche couldn’t imagine what. It was Sile de Tansarville who had information on the Kingslayer.

“Who are they with?”

“Temerian,” Iorveth said, and there was something stiff in his voice. “It would seem we’ve reached the end of our journey.”

“And truce,” Ves said. Roche shot her a look that did absolutely nothing.

“Well then. Unless we all decide to stupidly die before any of us gets what we want, I propose we part ways in peace,” he met Geralt’s eyes first, to check in with the one who would be pursuing the Kingslayer, and then he turned to Iorveth and suddenly couldn’t seem to look away.

Iorveth’s eye held a storm of emotion that Roche couldn’t even begin to untangle and it made something settle awkwardly in his belly. They weren’t done. This couldn’t be the last time they encountered each other. There was too much unfinished business between them.

“I’ll catch you next time, Squirrel,” he said, a frail hope that there would still be a next time, in some form at least. “And you,” he pointed at Rinn who grinned at him, “you, I’ll be watching for.”

_You won’t see me,_ Rinn signed and fuck, he’d forgotten to deal with that.

Well, good. That meant he had unfinished business with the Scoia’tael. He licked his lips and darted a final look at Iorveth, noticing that Ciaran was watching Iorveth’s face closely. Roche wondered if the elf could see more than he could, because he had no idea what to do with the cacophony of expressions he was able to read. 

He signaled for his team to follow him and turned away from Iorveth. He would have time to worry about the elf and whatever everything with Iorveth meant later, _after_ Temeria’s future was secure. 

“Let’s check in with Natalis, men,” Roche said, marching forward towards the Temerian guards. He didn’t look back, but if he had, he would have seen the way a muscle in Iorveth’s cheek twitched and the look of horrified understanding that passed over Ciaran’s face. 

But he didn’t, so Roche had no way of knowing the discord that would soon be taking place within the Scoia’tael.


	8. Arc 1: The Investigation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roche and the Blue Stripes work to find out what happened to the royal bastards, Anais and Boussy La Valette.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning! This chapter has some stuff related to Phillippa losing her eyes in the game. It's not a detailed description, but like, if that's a thing for you, you might want to skip the part where we meet Phillippa (her name is said in narrative before the description).
> 
> Brigida is from the Lilies and Vipers quest in Roche’s path, but I admit, I’ve changed her up a lot. I’ve also adapted elements of that quest for my own purposes.

Constable John Natalis, Leader of Temeria’s Army and Current Representative amongst the Leaders of the Northern Kingdoms was not exactly delighted to have the Blue Stripes in his camp the day before the Summit, but with the royal children missing, he had little choice other than to trust Roche to do what he did best.

Natalis and he had never really gotten along. The established military wasn’t a fan of his authority, which stood outside their own, having been handed down by the King himself. It also meant he technically outranked many of them, but no one ever actually acknowledged that. But that was okay – all Roche needed to get a job done was his team. The Blue Stripes had never failed him.

Which was why, before they’d even been in Loc Muinne for three hours, Ves passed him a message containing the whereabouts of Brigida Papebrock, the woman he’d enlisted to watch over the royal children. She would be his first stop in this investigation.

But first, it was clear that the old noble families of Temeria who had accompanied the delegation to Loc Muinne were interested in discovering how Roche’s investigation was preceding. The loss of the children was common knowledge around the Temerian camp by now and Roche needed to lose a tail – or five. Fortunately, his men _excelled_ at drawing attention and getting in people’s way.

Once each of his men had successfully waylaid and redirected his pursuers, Roche snuck along the walls of the ruins to head to Brigida’s location. She had better have a damn good explanation for him about what had happened to Foltest’s children.

His knock on her door went unanswered so, looking around surreptitiously, he picked the lock and opened the door, stepping inside. And immediately ducked a split second before a cast iron pan would have smacked him in the face.

It whacked into the doorway instead, and he darted a hand out to grab his attacker’s wrist and force them back into the house.

“Get your hands off me, you whoreson! I trusted you and it nearly got me killed!” Brigida yelled and her shrill voice reminded him of one of the reasons they were no longer involved with each other.

Well, his confession that he thought he might prefer men had definitely played a significant role in that choice as well. But her voice did grate on his ears and dammit, she _knew_ how much he hated that word. _Whoreson_ always brought him back to a childhood full of judgement and sneers and the pity in people’s voices as they talked about him, the whore’s son Vernon Roche.

Brigida knew that, knew just where to hit, because she had been there. They’d been young when they were together – and that relationship ended up tying them together for the rest of their lives. Brigida had been with him when then-Prince Foltest had hired him into Foltest’s service after he’d accidentally saved the lives of the royal heirs, and he and Brigida had essentially been thrown into high society without warning or preparation. The disdain they’d garnered from the nobility linked them together as much as their shared past.

“And I trusted _you_ with Temeria’s future,” Roche growled, pulling the pan out of Brigida’s hand and releasing her. “Tell me what happened.” Brigida’s hair was messy and her usually pristine clothing was sloppily fastened. Whatever had occurred, she was definitely spooked.

“Not until you get me out of here safely! Someone’s been hunting me – you have to guarantee my safety. For _real,_ Vernon – I need your sworn word that you’ll get me out of here alive.” 

Roche held up his hand. “Okay, hold on. Who’s hunting you? Start at the beginning.”

“Swear it, Vernon,” Brigida looked into his eyes and made no attempt to hide the very real fear on her face. “This was supposed to be a bit of excitement, nothing serious. I love Temeria, but I’m not going to die for her!”

He sighed deeply. “I swear I will guarantee your safety myself. Now sit down and tell me what happened.”

Brigida sighed shakily and nodded minutely, turning to lead them to her couch. “We were ambushed. I traveled with the children in the caravan to Loc Muinne, but it was totally destroyed!” Her hands shook and he reached out to steady her. “We were traveling along the agreed path, with a limited escort so as not to draw attention. We were about halfway there when they attacked. They killed everyone, Vernon. I–” she swallowed and he squeezed her hand. “When the attack started, I told the children to get down, to hide between the seats. But there wasn’t room for all of us, and one of the attackers pulled me from the wagon. A crossbow bolt hit his neck and I ran and hid.”

“And the children?”

She licked her lips, taking a deep breath. “After they’d killed everyone, the attackers pulled Anais and Boussy from the wagon. I turned away, scared of what they might do to them – but they just took the children and left.”

“Who were they? Was there anything identifiable about the men?”

“I’m not a spy, Vernon! I don’t know! They looked like typical brutes! But there must be a spy in the Temerian camp – how else could they have known where to find us? I’ve been hiding here for three days, and I can feel someone closing in. That’s why I attacked you when you broke in.” Brigida didn’t apologize for it, though, and Roche kind of couldn’t blame her.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I honestly thought this would be an easy assignment. Obviously I was wrong.” 

She nodded, but didn’t say anything and they sat in silence for a few moments before Brigida burst out, “oh, Vernon, what’s going to happen to the children? They – you don’t think–”

He shook his head. “If they didn’t kill them there, then they probably won’t. This Summit seems to be the center of everything – whoever has them is likely keeping them close. If they’re after you as the last witness, then your pursuers should lead us to them.”

Her fingernails dug into his hand as soon as he mentioned ‘witness’, and he squeezed her hands again. He did actually feel bad – he hadn’t meant to drag Brigida into this mess. He’d wanted someone he trusted to stay with the children, to be able to report back to him what the nobility tried to pull, but it had been supposed to be safe.

Stupid. He’d been blind to the political capital the children represented, too wrapped up in the fact that they were Foltest’s legacy, that they were all he now had left of his King. To him, they weren’t just royal bastards. They were Foltest’s _children,_ children that the King himself had recognized and wished to declare as heirs, even though he wouldn’t marry their mother. 

But that had been shortsighted of Roche, not to realize that the majority of Temeria wouldn’t think of them as such. To the Temerian nobles, they were nothing but pawns.

That’s why he’d wanted Brigida to watch them. Brigida had lived through the ups and downs of poverty _and_ the ridiculous etiquette that was Temerian Court, and she was the perfect person to both see the children as _children_ and to understand what they might need, after such a trauma. Brigida didn’t have an agenda, beyond wanting some excitement in her life, and Roche’s only agenda was to protect the children.

Clearly, he should have left some of his men with Brigida. Because gods forbid the army actually manage that one basic task.

“All right, I’m going to get you out of here, Brigida. Unless you want to hide in the city while my men and I find the children.”

“Fuck no. Get me _out_ of here, Vernon! Please!” Brigida looked like she might swing at him with the pan again if he said no, and he knew from experience that she could pack some _power_ behind her blows.

“All right, all right,” Roche hastened to reassure her. “We’ll go meet my men. I’ll assign one of them to protect you and bring you out of the city, down to our ship.”

“So I can be a sitting duck on your ship rather than here?”

He sighed, “the Kings brought their delegations overland. No one else is moored in the mouth of the river, and no one should be. I promise – my men will protect you with their lives, if need be.”

Brigida sniffled, “okay. I’m trusting you, Vernon. I know we have our differences, but–” 

“But I’d never let you get hurt if I could prevent it,” Roche promised. “Come on, let’s go meet my men. Is there a back way out of here?”

“You think someone’s watching the front!?” she asked in alarm, even as she stood to shuffle around a few bags of potatoes in the pantry, revealing a trap door. “I’m not sure where it lets out. I wasn’t able to make it far before getting swarmed by drowners.”

“I don’t think I was followed, but just in case.” He pulled out a silver dagger and a torch, offering both to her, “stay close behind me. And, uh,” he gestured down at her hands, “maybe leave the pan?”

She glared at him and pointedly stowed the cast iron pan in her bag before accepting the dagger and torch. “I swear, I’m never asking you for excitement again. I should have known better after our first date.”

Roche snorted. Their first date had been to a royal parade in Vizima – the same parade where Roche happened to spot the crossbowman before the assassin could take their shot, thereby saving the lives of Foltest and his sister, Adda. In reward, he was made Foltest’s – well, jack of all trades, in a way. He was whatever Foltest needed him to be. 

Roche didn’t regret any of that, but he knew that Brigida did. Suddenly serving the royal family meant that Roche had been thrust right into cutthroat world of politics and power. Brigida, unfortunately for her, had been along for the ride, employed as a lady-in-waiting for Princess Adda. Brigida’s initial starstruck over the royal family faded pretty quickly in light of the way the nobility treated her – always _less than._ That was one of the reasons why she’d become Roche’s informant over the years – she did everything possible to become one of the courtiers, but they never truly accepted her, always leaving her on the fringes. 

Brigida was not a _fringes_ type of girl. The first time he’d met her, Brigida had saved him from a guard who had caught him stealing bread – and she did so by smashing a frying pan into the back of the guard’s knee, and then bringing it down on his face when it was in range. The guard had passed out cold, and Brigida had turned to him, delicate as can be, and asked him out.

They’d grown apart over the years, lives and interests diverging, but there was still a part of him that was completely awestruck by that little girl who had shook blonde ringlets out of her face, planted her hands on her hips – ignoring the frying pan in her grip – and demanded that he attend the royal parade with her. 

Roche smiled to himself, sliding down the ladder into what looked like a half-finished cellar built off of the city’s sewers. He pulled up his internal map of the city, trying to orient himself. He’d told his team to meet up in the Town Square, so if they headed west, they should be able to take the sewers all the way there.

“Right, follow me,” he said, and they made their way through the dank stone tunnels. 

Brigida hadn’t been kidding when she’d said the drowners swarmed her before. They hadn’t gone thirty paces before the monsters came, and there were indeed enough of them to swarm. Brigida waved the torch around to try to get them to back off and Roche took out as many of them as he could from a distance, but before long, their daggers were dripping with viscera and Roche was starting to worry that maybe he wouldn’t be able to keep his word after all, because the drowners just _kept coming._

And then he heard a distinctive roar under the snarling of the drowners and at the last moment, he pegged it as the sound of an oncoming fireball. He took a deep breath and spun, covering Brigida as much as he could. If he was lucky, his armor would protect him from the worst of it. 

The fire fell upon them with a deafening _fwoom_ and heat licked across his back as drowners disintegrated round them. Brigida screamed, clutching his arm tightly.

And then it was over, the heat receding, and Roche could breathe again. He rose to his feet, pulling Brigida with him and turned to see the absolute _last_ people he expected to run into: Geralt, Iorveth, and Phillippa Eilhart, the Dragonslayer’s sorceress.

“Roche?” Geralt called. “What are you doing here?”

Roche coughed, waving a hand through the ashen embers that fluttered through the air. “Nearly getting eaten by drowners. You?” Then he got a good look at the three of them, Geralt standing with his sword at the ready and Iorveth holding the chains of a bound Phillippa and – “fucking hell, who did _that?”_

The sorceresses eyes had been gouged out, leaving empty caverns in eye sockets that dripped blood down her face. Brigida gasped, nails digging into Roche’s arm again. 

“Radovid,” Geralt grimaced. He looked down at Brigida. “Are you okay?”

Brigida’s smile was shaky, but it was there. “Y-yes. Vernon protected me. But who are you and why are you traveling with a tied up sorceress and a terrorist?”

“Freedom fighter,” Iorveth snarled. Brigida only gripped her knife tighter.

Roche patted the hand that was curled around his arm and cutting off his circulation. “It’s okay. No need for more bloodshed here, is there?”

He was talking to all of them, but he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off of Iorveth, even when Geralt stepped forward and introduced himself. 

“We’re headed towards Phillippa’s quarters. You should come with us, so you don’t end up drowner food after all,” Geralt offered.

“Actually, we need to get to – okay, I can’t feel my hand, please stop,” Roche said to Brigida, shaking his hand out as it tingled when she stepped away with a soft _sorry._ “Right, uh, we’re headed to the Town Square.” 

Geralt turned to Iorveth and the elf looked them over with a frown. “Should be on the way.”

“No,” Brigida said, and Roche blinked, looking down at her. “Iorveth and the Kingslayer are walking around the sewer with a chained up mage whose injuries they didn’t even bother to wrap, and you want to go with them? Fuck that!”

He opened his mouth, but he couldn’t think to say anything beyond, “she has a point.”

Geralt winced, pulling out some fabric to use as a bandage. Iorveth just shrugged. 

“Right,” Roche said awkwardly, picking up their dropped torch. “We’re gonna go and hope we don’t get eaten by drowners. Good luck with,” he waved vaguely at Phillippa, then nodded them. “Geralt. Iorveth.”

Iorveth’s eye met his as the elf tilted his chin, “Vernon.” 

Brigida made a small sound and wrapped her arm around Roche’s again, “let’s go.”

As he turned away, he just barely caught the dark look that passed over Iorveth’s face. What was that all about?

Brigida tugged him along, looking back over her shoulder nervously. “They’re not gonna hurt you,” he found himself saying, and it was true, neither Geralt or Iorveth had any _reason_ to hurt her. But that probably wasn’t exactly what she feared right now. “Geralt didn’t kill Foltest. He’s helping me hunt for the _real_ Kingslayer.”

“And Iorveth?” She demanded, “Temeria’s Most Wanted, and you just nod at him while he calls you Vernon!?”

His brow furrowed, “why does what he calls me matter?”

The look she gave him very clearly communicated her thoughts on the state of his brain – or lack thereof. “Vernon, who in your life actually calls you that? Ever since you invented that silly last name, _everyone_ calls you by it.”

“I’m sorry, _you’re_ calling _my_ last name stupid, Papebrock!?” he scoffed. “And that’s not true. Foltest calls – uh, _called_ me Vernon sometimes.”

“Exactly,” she said, as if that explained anything. “And for the record, Papebrock is _far_ superior to Roche.”

“Exactly? What does that mean?”

She just gave him another significant _look,_ then shook her hair back from her face. “Sometimes it’s easy to remember you as that blank-faced dumpy boy who used to carry my books.”

“Wha – I was never dumpy!”

“The point is that you’re still an idiot, Vernon. An absolute, utter idiot.”

His sputtering was cut off by the growls of another drowner lunging towards them, but before it could draw close, a silver-tipped arrow was cutting through its head and blood sprayed across Brigida’s face as she screamed. Roche twisted to see Iorveth’s red bandana and Geralt’s white hair in the distance, the firelight just barely illuminating the ends of Iorveth’s bow.

“That was – totally unnecessary,” Roche scowled. “I could have handled it.”

He could _just_ make out Iorveth’s shrug and he sighed. The good news was, they were in the right area now, and just needed to find an exit. The bad news was, Brigida would attract an awful lot of notice with a face full of blood. With a sigh, he pulled his chaperone off his head and started unrolling it so that he could clean her up.

She leaned back away from him when he first reached for her, though. “Ew, you wear that on your head! It’s probably all sweaty!”

“Would you prefer the drowner blood?” Roche asked rhetorically, reaching out again.

“Ugh,” Brigida groaned, glaring at Iorveth, Geralt, and Phillippa, who steadily approached. Iorveth glared right back at her and seriously, what was his problem?

Roche sent Iorveth a quizzical stare, but there was no time to worry about whatever the elf was dealing with – aside from the massive sorceress problem he clearly had. Roche had spotted the exit, and he was more than eager to get Brigida taken care of so that he could follow her pursuers and find out who was behind everything – and save the children.

“Ready?” he asked, putting his chaperone back on.

She gave him a miserable look.

“It’s okay, I’ll have eyes on you the whole time, I promise. You’re just gonna walk across the square, nice and visible. Once we get a bead on your pursuers, my team will take you out of here, okay?”

Brigida took a deep breath, rolling her shoulders. “I’m never doing a favor for you again, Vernon,” she said before nodding.

“You say that every time,” he joked, climbing up the latter and pulling back the grate. When he poked his head out, they were in an alley just outside the main square, and no one was around, so he hauled himself up and reached back down to help Brigida out.

When he looked back down into the sewers, he noticed that Iorveth was still glaring daggers at Brigida, though the elf’s face cleared when he looked up to meet Roche’s gaze. Brigida huffed, pulling herself out of the sewer and dragging the grate back into place, cutting off his view of Iorveth.

“Seriously?” she asked and he just blinked at her.

“What?”

Brigida just shook her head, muttering “so stupid,” under her breath.

Roche frowned, but let it go with a shrug as they walked into the square. Immediately, he scouted out where his team was, and with pride, he found each of them stationed around the square so that every inch of it was in someone’s view. 

“Okay, go ahead and walk. I’ll be just a couple of paces behind you.”

Brigida clenched her fists, let out a deep breath, and marched across the square with her head held high. Roche let a few people pass between then before he started following her, keeping an eye out for any suspicious movement.

The first man was easy to spot. He already looked out of place, wearing dark robes that covered his face, and he was none to subtle about following Brigida.

But he was a trap, Roche realized. Whoever was behind this was waiting for Brigida’s protectors to reveal themselves. And he would have to, if only to keep the rest of his team from being pegged. That was okay. Ves would have seen the trap, she would keep watch so that they could find the real threat.

He pushed his way past the crowd to reach Brigida, calling out her name, “Brigida, darling, I’ve been looking for you,” he said casually, watching out of the corner of his eye as the obvious man looked him over. 

“Vernon–” she started to say, but he pulled her close to kiss her cheek, leaning in to breathe in her ear.

“I’m going to be obvious about spotting your tail. When I tell you to, I want you to walk calmly to the teashop on the corner, where that big man is sitting, you see him?” He moved to kiss her other cheek and she nodded. “That’s PT. He’s going to get you out of here. I promise you’ll be safe with him, okay?”

Brigida swallowed and forced a smile on her face, “I’m ready.”

Roche nodded and linked his arm with hers, walking her a little further around the square, closer to Pillow Tits. When the obvious man pushed someone else out of the way to get closer to them, Roche released Brigida and turned to confront him. “Hey, what’s the big idea?”

The man put his hands up and backed away. “Sorry, my mistake.”

Roche glared at him, then turned back to Brigida.

“What was the point of that?” she whispered.

“Whoever follows us now is our guy,” he answered, “now we’re gonna do a bait and switch with you, okay?”

“What? What does that mean?”

“It means when we walk past these curtains, you’re going to duck behind the vendor’s table and stay very, very quiet. Once the coast is clear, I’ll give you the signal to go to PT,” he squeezed her arm. “It’s okay. My men are all around us – we won’t let you get hurt, all right?”

Roche waited until the fluttering curtains hid them from sight, then he pushed Brigida towards the vendor stall that Fenn was manning in disguise. Fenn winked at him past the square-rimmed spectacles on his face and Roche rolled his eyes, continuing to walk on, in the opposite direction of Pillow Tits’ teahouse. Instead, he perused the market stalls and caught Ves’s eye from where she was browsing a selection of wooden toys that Roche was fairly sure were not intended for children.

She nodded the slightest amount, signalling that she had eyes on their real pursuer. Roche gave the man enough time to realize that Brigida was no longer walking with him, and then, when the man moved away, Ves made following him look completely natural. Thirteen and Silas detached from their stations and followed her, backup in case it was needed. Meanwhile, Roche waited just a little bit longer, to ensure they really were gone, and then gave Fenn the signal to send Brigida to Pillow Tits.

Brigida emerged, dressed in a drab brown cloak that she hadn’t been wearing before, but that blended in perfectly with the crowd. She made her way quietly towards the teashop and finally sat down across from PT.

Roche signalled for them to leave and watched to make sure no one followed them before heading after Pillow Tits. Fenn, Finch, and Shorty joined him in a roundabout fashion, and soon the six of them were standing near the gates of the city. 

“All right, see? Not too bad,” he smiled at Brigida. 

She ducked her head into her shoulders and stuck her tongue out at him. 

“Right well, PT, you’re going to guard her. Take her down to the ship and stay with her until we return.

“Yes, sir. Ready, Miss?”

Brigida nodded emphatically, but before leaving, she pursed her lips and turned to Roche. “Save them, Vernon. I don’t know what will happen to Temeria now, but those kids don’t deserve to be pawns.”

“I know,” he said. “I’ll do everything in my power to ensure their safety. You have my word.”

She looked like she was going to say something else for a moment, but then she simply turned to nod to the rest of his men before following Pillow Tits out of the city gates.

“All right,” he turned back to Fenn, Finch, and Shorty. “What have you found out?”

“The Summit begins shortly, and Fenn’s not the only bookie sharing the odds on this whole thing blowing up. King Radovid arrested the sorceress Phillippa Eilhart, though I’ve also heard that she escaped from his dungeon,” Shorty reported. “King Henselt’s been doing his standard grandstanding and shouting, and apparently he invited Nilfgaard to the Summit. Meanwhile, our new Queen Saskia seems to keep to herself with Sile de Tansarville.”

Roche snarled. What the hell was Geralt doing? Iorveth was supposed to get Geralt access to Sile to find the Kingslayer! Whatever the fuck they were doing in the sewers with Phillippa Eilhard had better be related.

“And Temeria?”

“The nobles are trying to influence Natalis in all sorts of different directions, but his hands are pretty much tied at this point. The only way to save Temeria from being split up is to have the royal children,” Finch shrugged. “We better hope Ves finds something good with that guy, or we’ve got nothing much.”

“Someone in the Temerian camp leaked the path the caravan was taking. It was ambushed and the children were taken,” Roche shared and Shorty’s ears turned red in anger. 

“Nothing worse than a dirty traitor,” he growled.

Roche nodded. “Let’s catch up with Ves, see what she’s got.”

Ves, it turned out, had _everything._ They caught up to her in an alleyway not far from the Kaedweni camp, where she was standing over four bodies, cleaning the blood off of her knife. Thirteen and Silas shrugged at Roche in a _what can you do_ manner, and he supposed that was fair, even if he would have preferred having live suspects to interrogate.

“They were carrying this,” Ves said, her voice tense and furious.

Roche took the message and felt like the air had been punched out of him.

_Your Excellency!_

_I am happy to report that Anais and Boussy, Foltest's bastard children, have been handed over to the Kaedwenis in Your Excellency's name, as per our agreement. The children are now under the sorcerer Dethmold's care, and he appeared to be more than pleased with the gift. I trust that since I have concluded my end of the matter, I can now expect swift closure thereof on Your Excellency's part._

_Your Excellency's Faithful Servant,_

_Count Maravel_

“Maravel,” Ves snarled, “the traitor is Maravel.”

“Working for Nilfgaard,” Roche grit out. “Keep this safe,” he returned the message to Ves. “We’ll need to get it to Natalis, and take care of the traitor. But our first priority is the kids.”

“Dethmold’s magic won’t be easy to defeat,” Thirteen said, chewing on his thumbnail. “But at least we know where he is. He has his own little set up right outside the Kaedweni camp. Apparently he’s using part of the ruins for experiments.”

“If he’s touched the royal heirs–” Shorty growled.

“We’ll kill him either way,” Roche promised. “Let’s go ensure Temeria’s future.”


	9. Arc 1: Temeria's Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roche and the Blue Stripes rescue Anais and Boussy La Valette, the royal heirs of Temeria.

One thing Roche swore to himself – he would keep Foltest’s children safe. And that meant _not_ letting either of them witness another gruesome murder in front of their eyes.

Even if Dethmold _more_ than deserved the most grotesque punishment he could conceive of. So after the Blue Stripes had cut a bloody swath through Dethmold’s camp and they broke into the shielded ruins, Roche split the team in two – one to search for Dethmold and deal with him, and one to find the royal children.

As much as he’d _love_ to cut Dethmold’s balls off and stuff them down his throat, Roche’s priority was the kids. Fortunately, they weren’t hard to find. As Ves led her team towards what seemed to be Dethmold’s bedchambers, Roche’s group turned right and crept down a stairwell. The open room they emerged in was unlit, save for the odd blue glow emanating from a barrier, behind which two small figures were curled next to each other. 

“Anais! Boussy!” Roche called softly, running to the makeshift cell they were being kept in.

“Careful, Boss,” Thirteen murmured, “that barrier looks like it’s packing a lot of energy.”

“How can we take it down?” Silas asked.

“I know one way,” Thirteen growled. “Kill the mage and their spells lose power.”

“Anais? Boussy?” Roche knelt in front of the barrier, watching the children through the strange semi-transparent field. “My name’s Vernon Roche. Do you remember me? I met you a couple of times when your dad was with you.”

Boussey cowered back, hiding his face behind his sister’s shoulder, but Anais looked up at Roche. Her face was pale and her teeth dug into her lip, but her expression was hopeful. “I remember you,” she whispered, just barely audible over the crackle of the barrier.

“We’re gonna get you out of here, okay?” Roche whispered. Something in his chest ached at the sight of these scared little children, innocents who never should have been involved at all.

Anais just looked at him, clearly wondering how he was planning on doing that when the magic barrier was in place.

Just to test, he reached out his hand to _almost_ touch the barrier – and he was thrown across the room for his trouble. He groaned, staring up at the ceiling in confusion before Silas and Thirteen pulled him to his feet. 

“Okay,” he said, “we’re not getting past that by force. You two, go join Ves’s team and take care of bringing the barrier down.” _AKA kill the sorcerer,_ he signed. Maybe it was pointless to try to keep the kids from hearing them talk about killing, but he owed it to Foltest to at least _try._ These kids had been through enough trauma of recent.

Thirteen and Silas nodded to him, and while Thirteen’s smile was a bit too pleased for the task they were being assigned, neither of them said anything that had him worrying about the children’s sensibilities.

That wouldn’t keep up, of course. His team was about as capable of speaking in kid-friendly language as – well, as _he_ was. Honestly, he didn’t know how Foltest did it.

Roche rolled his shoulders and knelt by the barrier again. “Sorry if that scared you. My friends are going to go bring this down, okay? In the meantime, can you tell me if either of you are hurt?”

“No,” Anais shook her head. Boussy was still hiding behind her, but wide eyes peeked out at Roche from over Anais’s shoulder. 

“Good,” Roche said, licking his lips and wondering what the hell he was doing. He just didn’t want the children to be left alone while they took care of Dethmold, but what did he know about kids? He should’ve asked Shorty to come with him – sixteen kids _must_ mean the guy was doing something right, surely. 

Then again, Shorty had named them all after Temerian troop divisions, so perhaps not.

A distant scream echoed through ruins and Boussy flinched, ducking back behind Anais. Anais curled her own arms tightly around her knees, frightened, but trying to appear strong. 

Grasping desperately for ideas, he thought about what had helped him when he was a terrified child. “Do you want to hear a story while we wait? I’m not much of a storyteller, but my mom used to tell me this one when I was scared.”

Anais nodded shyly, and Roche licked his lips, taking a deep breath and telling the story loud enough to drown out the agonized howling coming from Dethmold’s quarters. 

“There once was a girl named Lily. On the surface, there was nothing particularly special about Lily – she wasn’t powerful, she wasn’t important, she wasn’t rich. But she had something more important than any of that – determination. Every time people looked down on her or hit her or cursed her, Lily got back up and came at them even harder.

“One day, Lily heard her neighbors yelling and arguing. The loud hollering was scary, but Lily knew that her neighbor, Mrs. Peabody, had a bark that was worse than her bite. When Lily would run around and accidentally tramble Mrs. Peabody’s roses, Mrs. Peabody would yell something awful, but she never, ever hit Lily, even that time Lily ruined her _entire_ garden. If someone was hurting Mrs. Peabody, Lily had to make sure that Mrs. Peabody would be okay. 

“So Lily armed herself just in case, picking up her nice, trusty frying pan,” Roche smiled at Anais’s confused sound, “what, you don’t have a trusty frying pan? I highly recommend it – it’s very versatile as weapons go. You can smack things with it, cook dinner with it, even use it as a hammer!” He mimed out the actions as he spoke and was rewarded with two soft giggles.

“Well, Lily grabbed her trusty frying pan, then she ran over to Mrs. Peabody’s house, knocking on her door loudly. ‘Mrs. Peabody!’ she yelled, ‘Mrs. Peabody, are you okay?’” Just like his mother used to, he tried to imitate Lily’s high pitched voice, but he wasn’t sure he was very good at it. Still, both children were leaning forward now, intent on his story.

“There was no response for a long minute, and Lily tried the doorknob. It was unlocked, so she walked into the house, calling for Mrs. Peabody again. There was a loud thump from the back room and Mrs. Peabody cried out, then the door was opening and someone came running right towards Lily!” Boussy gasped, and Roche tried to hold back his grin. “Now, Lily was just as scared as _anyone_ would be. But do you know what she did?”

Anais shook her head, biting her lip.

Roche looked into each of their eyes and finished the story the way his mother always had, “she did the only thing she could – Lily swung her frying pan with all her strength, and when it hit the man’s leg, he crumpled to the ground, crying out. Lily called for Mrs. Peabody again, and the woman came hobbling out of the back room, her clothing disarrayed.

“‘Are you okay, Mrs. Peabody?’ Lily asked, and her neighbor smiled at her with the softest look Lily had ever seen on her face. ‘Because of you, my dear, I am. Thank you. If you hadn’t come to check on me, I would be answering differently,’ Mrs. Peabody said. ‘You saved me, Lily.’”

The barrier wavered at that moment, shimmering in the air before disappearing. Anais and Boussy scrambled to their feet and Roche checked that the barrier was truly gone, reaching his arms out for the children. Anais came running to him, wrapping her arms around his middle and burying her face into his armor. Boussy, on the other hand, hung back, chewing on his lip nervously. 

Roche licked his lips, setting a hand on Anais’s head and holding the other out for Boussy, in case the boy changed his mind and was ready for contact. “And that’s why it’s okay to be scared. You can be scared and still be brave and still help people.”

He could hear the Blue Stripes approaching, their boots tapping against the stone floor, but he didn’t take his eyes off of Boussy. Hesitantly, Boussy edged forward until small, grimy fingers gripped his. 

“Job done, Bossman,” Finch announced as his team filed into the room. Boussy flinched back again at the noise, and Roche let the boy pull away, but kept his hand outstretched, hoping Boussy would choose to reach out again.

“Good,” Roche said, still looking at Boussy and attempting to smile gently. How did an old soldier make himself look less threatening? Somehow Roche had never learned the answer to that. “Anais, Boussy, these are the Blue Stripes. They’re gonna keep you safe, okay?”

He felt Anais shift against him, probably turning to look them over, but Boussy pursed his lips, darting hesitant glances at Roche’s outstretched hand. 

“It’s okay, Boussy. You’re safe now, we’re gonna make sure of it.” Roche said softly. Boussy reached out again and grasped Roche’s hand, letting Roche pull him closer. Roche didn’t try to touch him further – if he remembered right, Boussy had never liked hugs the way Anais did. So, with Boussy’s hand in his and his other arm wrapped around Anais, he turned to face his men. 

Thirteen looked distinctly confused, muttering to Finch. “What’s up with lilies? The falcon is Lily, the stories are Lily, what is it with–” Finch tapped the Temerian emblem on Thirteen’s armor, the three Temerian lilies on a blue background, “ooooooooh.”

Roche rolled his eyes and cleared his throat. “We need to get the kids to John Natalis – the Summit has probably already started.”

Ves nodded, ordering the team to surround Roche, Anais, and Boussy. Because he wanted his sword arm free – not to wield his sword; if someone was that close, the kids were in trouble, but to allow him to throw daggers – he knelt down in front of Anais and offered her a ride on his back.

“You’ll have to hold on tight, okay? I won’t be able to hold you up,” he told her. He probably should have expected her arms to hold _too_ tightly and choke him. “Ah, not that tight, darling.”

“Sorry,” Anais muttered, shifting to loosen her arms and tighten her legs until she was securely attached to his back.

Roche rose to his feet, squeezing Boussy’s hand gently, “ready?”

Boussy didn’t raise his head but he nodded slightly. Roche turned to Ves and gestured for her guide them out.

With his second in command taking the lead, the Blue Stripes exited the ruins, headed towards amphitheater where the Summit was taking place. They made it about halfway before things went to shit. 

“They have the children!” Someone yelled before a crossbow bolt emerged from their neck, courtesy of Finch. Nonetheless, the call had clearly drawn attention to them, and a wave of Kaedweni soldiers charged at them. 

“Don’t look,” Roche told the children, slipping Anais from his shoulders and keeping them behind him. As the soldiers drew closer, Boussy latched onto Roche’s left leg, and Anais quickly followed his example, clutching Roche’s right leg tightly. Roche pressed their faces against his armor, trying to shield their eyes, and moved as far behind the Blue Stripes’ line as possible, loading his crossbow.

At first, the fight was easy, the Kaedwenis falling beneath their weapons. But more kept coming, and the Blue Stripes were forced to back up. If they could make it to the stairway up to the wall– 

But the Kaedwenis had spotted it too, and soldiers ran to cut them off, and at this rate, their backs were going to be pinned to the wall and dammit, Roche had _promised_ these children that they would be safe.

Suddenly, arrows were sticking out of a half dozen Kaedweni soldiers, and Roche twisted his head to see Iorveth emerge onto the wall behind them, arrow notched and aimed at the Kaedwenis.

He had never been so glad to see the elf in his life. 

“Scoia’tael!” Ves snarled.

“Squirrels!” One of the Kaedweni soldiers shouted and then the attacks were being split between the two of them, crossbows aimed at the Scoia’tael while the swordsmen came at the Blue Stripes. The soldiers that had cut off their escape up the staircase ran up the steps, slashing at the Scoia’tael, who met them with blades drawn. Roche had never seen warriors balance slashing with a sword and shooting with a bow at the same time, but the Scoia’tael weren’t acting as though it were difficult at all.

Roche was _not_ jealous.

Then, Iorveth jabbed a shieldbearer in the face with an arrow, grabbed the shield, and slid it across the ground towards the stairs, jumping onto it to slide down the staircase while shooting arrows at the gaping Kaedwenis.

Roche was somewhat relieved he wasn’t the only one staring at the crazy fucking elf, especially when Iorveth leapt off of the shield, sending it flying directly into someone’s throat, and flipped into the air, planting a hand on one soldier’s shoulder as he slit the man’s throat, then finally landed, planting his feet into another soldier’s stomach and stabbing his knife down into their gut before he stood at the base of the staircase as if nothing had happened. 

Roche shook his head. Anyone who survived today would be talking about that move over drinks for _years_ to come. 

“Fucking hell,” Thirteen mumbled while the two children clinging to Roche gasped excitedly, even though they weren’t supposed to be watching.

“Show off,” Ves scoffed, as she spun around and threw six knives in rapid succession, each hitting their marks in a Kaedweni soldier’s eye.

Their right eyes. Just like Iorveth’s right eye, Roche realized with a wince.

“10 orens the Blue Stripes can kill more Kaedwenis than the Scoia’tael,” Fenn shouted and Roche’s men seemed to gain a second wind, fighting fiercely.

“We heard something about children,” Iorveth slowly slaughtered his way closer to them. Then he seemed to catch sight of Roche, with the two children clinging to his legs and Iorveth actually stumbled in surprise. At exactly the worst moment, too, because there was a Kaedweni soldier sneaking up behind him. 

Roche’s hands moved automatically, loading his crossbow and firing before he’d consciously decided to shoot the soldier. Iorveth planted a hand on the ground and spun, using the momentum from his fall to swipe several soldier’s legs from under them. 

Silas quickly finished the soldiers off, though he still seemed nervous to be around the elf. Iorveth stared at Roche, even as he stabbed a knife back into an approaching attacker. Then he licked his lips and called, “Rinn!”

The elven spy dropped down next to Roche, even though he would swear that she wasn’t on the wall a moment ago. 

_To safety,_ Rinn signed and then held out her hands to the children.

Roche took a deep breath. _I’m trusting you,_ he signed, before stroking his hands through each child’s hair. “Go with Rinn here. She’s going to bring you to safety, and I’ll come get you as soon as possible, okay?”

Surprisingly, Boussy was the first to actually reach out for Rinn, though he appeared to be reaching for Rinn’s head, rather than her hand. Anais, on the other hand, refused to let go of Roche’s leg, and he glanced nervously over his shoulder, checking that no one had gotten through their defenses while his back was turned.

“Please, Anais. You shouldn’t have to see all of this, and it’s dangerous here.” He knelt down to grasp her shoulders, “I’m counting on you to watch over your brother and stay safe, okay? Do what Rinn tells you to and stay out of sight.”

Anais nodded reluctantly, and released Roche’s leg. Rinn offered her hands again and each child took one, though Boussy was still staring at Rinn’s head. No, at her _ears._

Well, he would just have to deal with that later. For now, Roche’s legs felt cold without the two children pressed against them, and he swallowed roughly, nodding to Rinn. 

She nodded back with a grim smile and even though he was looking at her, he wasn’t certain how she managed to disappear with the two children. Rinn either had serious skill or magic, but either way, the children were safe now. He had to believe that.

“You handed them over to an elf!?” Ves hissed when Roche pulled out his sword and moved forward, joining the fight properly.

“Better than them being here!” he retorted, but it hit him with some surprise that his only hesitation about leaving them with Rinn was that he wouldn’t be with them any longer. Rinn being an elf had hardly played a factor.

How odd.

But there was no time to think on it, no time to ponder what that meant, not when Kaedweni soldiers kept coming at them, men bellowing as they swung their swords and fell to their deaths either with arrows sticking out of them, or with sword cuts across their bodies.

Finally, the soldiers seemed to run out of reinforcements, and the Blue Stripes and the Scoia’tael were given a few moments to catch their breath and assess themselves. Glancing around his people, Roche was fairly certain that no one had more that superficial wounds.

A miracle, honestly.

He caught Iorveth’s eye briefly as Iorveth assessed his own men, now on the ground and interspersed between the Blue Stripes. They certainly made an odd sight, Scoia'tael and Blue Stripes, fighting together on the same side.

Iorveth looked Roche over – checking if he was all right? – and opened his mouth to speak, but before he could say anything, screaming and yelling broke out from the direction of the amphitheater, and then the unmistakable sound of swords clashing. Ves cracked her neck and started pulling her knives from Kaedweni bodies, clearly preparing for another fight.

“Sounds like the Summit’s already ended, sir,” Silas said, voice quavering slightly.

“No! It can’t be!” Shorty yelled, clenching his hands around his sword, “we can’t have failed Temeria!”

Roche’s heart felt like it was ripping open in his chest. If the Summit had ended before they could bring the royal heirs, then the nobles would tear the kingdom up along the barony lines, and Temeria would devolve into civil war as each family tried to vie for the throne. But worse, they would be sitting ducks for Redania to invade.

Temeria. Lost. It couldn’t be.

“No,” Roche growled, “there must still be a way!”

Whether there was or not, they never got the chance to find out, because the fighting had finally reached them and it became very clear that not only had all the Kings brought more soldiers than they should have for a Peace Summit, but that a free for all seemed to have broken out.

A wave of soldiers clad in Redanian red swarmed them, and Roche caught a handful of screamed obscenities aimed at nonhumans and Temerians alike. 

“Filthy southerners,” one soldier snarled, “practically Nilfgaardian already, only shittier.”

“Well, what can you expect from a shithole infested with swamps and _elves!?”_ another sneered before Roche’s dagger impaled itself in his shoulder.

Shame. He’d been aiming for the heart.

“Lily fuckers,” someone shouted, “working with the tree shaggers. Kill them!”

Everywhere he looked, more soldiers seemed to be coming, mostly wearing Redanian red, but Roche spotted some in Kaedweni yellow and even a few in Nilfgaardian black mixed in.

“Sir!” Shorty called, “there are too many! We’ll be overrun!”

Roche bit his lip, wishing he had some genius plan to get them out of this, but his mind was drawing a blank. They were cornered against the wall, and for every attacker they cut down, four more seemed to take their place.

Just as he turned to Iorveth, hoping against hope that the crazy bastard might have an idea, there was a booming roar from their right and he felt that distinctive prickle on the back of his neck that warned him that magic was coming.

But instead of targeting them, a large fireball was thrown right into the center of the Redanian force. Screams and cries broke out in the vicinity, though from the fact that Roche couldn’t smell burning flesh, the fire must not have been very hot. Still, it knocked them aside and the crowd of attackers turned to meet this new threat.

Triss Merigold, looking battered and beaten but standing tall, swirled her hands again, a fireball forming between her palms. Behind her, the thundering of a hundred boots marching on stone announced the arrival of another force – this one mostly made up of lily white and Temerian blue soldiers, though some of those interspersed didn’t appear to be soldiers at all.

“Natalis!” Shorty cheered, and indeed, Roche spotted the shiny head of Temeria’s Constable at the front of the army. But the one actually leading the charge was– 

“Saskia!” Iorveth yelled, and the elves repeated her name as a rallying cry. “Saskia!”

The Temerian Army, somehow lead by Saskia of Vergen, Queen of the Free Pontar Valley, roared and charged at the Redanian (and Kaedweni and Nilfgaardian) soldiers, clashing together with the ringing impact of swords against shields. Reinvigorated, the Blue Stripes and the Scoia’tael pushed forward, until they were no longer pinned against the wall, but using it to guard their backs as their attackers retreated. 

Natalis spotted Roche as they made their way towards Saskia and Natalis, and though he shot a baffled look at the elves that were clearly fighting beside them – and keeping their distance from the majority of Temeria’s ranks – when he finally reached Roche, he didn’t bother to comment on them.

“The children?” Natalis shouted over the clamor of battle.

“Safe,” Roche responded, hoping – trusting? – that he was telling the truth and that Rinn was keeping Anais and Boussy safe. “The Summit?”

Natalis shook his head, “this is the result. Come – we’re marching out of the city. It’s turned into a No Man’s Land. Hell, half the civilians we’ve passed have joined us. Bring the children to the center of the force with them.

Roche nodded, wondering how exactly he was supposed to call Rinn back, especially since the fighting certainly hadn’t ended. He made his way towards Saskia, hoping to find Iorveth there. Surely the elf knew how to contact his spy.

Sure enough, Iorveth was fighting right along the front lines, right next to Saskia. Only the idiot seemed to have forgotten that four days ago, he’d been injured in the _last_ war he’d fought, and it was only a matter of time before Iorveth’s body’s exhaustion caught up with him. It took one twist too many, one pivot using his injured leg as a brace and it gave out. 

Even though Roche was too far away for it to be possible, he could swear that he heard Iorveth’s agonized gasp and something heavy sunk in his chest in concert with the way Iorveth slowly collapsed.

“Iorveth!”

Roche wasn’t sure if his voice was among those who shouted. He felt like time had slowed as his boots thumped against the stone floor, bringing him closer but not fast enough – not fast enough to catch Iorveth as he crumpled to the ground. 

Iorveth’s Scoia’tael – Ciaran, Sylvar, and Taredd – quickly formed a protective pincher in front of the fallen elf, and Saskia shouted a rallying cry, drawing the attackers’ attention away from Iorveth. Finally, _finally,_ Roche reached Iorveth, dropping to his knees and shoving a shoulder up under Iorveth’s arm.

“Get up, you stupid elf,” he snarled.

“Fuck,” Iorveth groaned, his fingers digging into Roche’s skin as he worked to pull himself up. Iorveth was able to stand, but his weight was almost entirely on Roche and he wouldn’t be able to fight very well in this condition. 

“I need to find Rinn,” Roche shouted to be heard over the battle. “We need to bring them out of the city!”

Iorveth twisted so that he could speak in Roche’s ear and there was no reason for Roche to suddenly be very conscious of the skin that Iorveth’s breath whispered against. “Rinn will not come out while the fighting continues. And if she comes out with the children in front of all of these bloodthirsty Temerians?”

Roche grit his teeth, but he had to admit that Iorveth had a point. The royal heirs, in the hands of an elf? It would be a slaughter. “I won’t leave without them.”

“Obviously,” Iorveth said. “We need to get clear of the fighting. Rinn promised safety for the kids – she won’t bring them back to us until the battle has moved on.”

Us? Well, Rinn was Iorveth’s spy, Roche supposed. It would make sense that Iorveth would want to make sure she was okay – and why he might not want to leave her with only Temerians surrounding her, even if Roche and the children intended no harm.

“We’ll head for the end of the procession,” Roche decided. “The city is emptying – even the civilians are fleeing. If we’re at the end of the line, we should avoid any of the fighting.”

Iorveth nodded in agreement, and they shuffled back, away from the front line where Saskia clashed with any who dared attempt to pass by her. But every time Iorveth put weight on his leg, his jaw clenched as he grit his teeth against the pain. 

They should stop, find somewhere to hide and let the army pass them by rather than walk the whole way. Iorveth’s wound had probably reopened, too, and Roche didn’t want to make it worse. That was the only reason why he changed direction, pulling them towards the ruins. It had nothing to do with something in his heart clenching tight at the sight of Iorveth’s pain.

“What–” Iorveth startled when they turned away from their path.

“You shouldn’t be walking on that leg,” Roche explained, “we should rewrap it anyway.”

There was an outcropping of what used to be a wall that looked promising as a place to hide and wait out the fighting. They staggered towards it, throwing daggers at any soldier that attacked. Finally, he pushed Iorveth down until the elf’s back was against the wall with his legs stretched out in front of him, then knelt down to inspect Iorveth’s leg. The elf helpfully tugged his armor up out of the way, and Roche tsked at the way Iorveth’s hose had gone sticky with blood. He tore off his chaperone, unrolling it until he could rip strips off the end for bandages.

“Why?” Iorveth asked.

Roche blinked at him, “what, you _want_ to bleed everywhere?”

Iorveth snorted, “not what I meant. Why help me?”

He furrowed his brow, focusing on wrapping Iorveth’s calf. He didn’t really know why, honestly. He just – well, he had to. He wasn’t going to leave Iorveth there like that, not even able to stand and fight against coming death. “I’m the only one allowed to kill you,” Roche decided. It was just basic decency – he couldn’t let his...enemy? lover? ally?...die at another’s hands.

Iorveth hummed lowly and Roche tied off the bandages, finally looking up to meet Iorveth’s gaze. The heat in Iorveth’s eye mixed with the pumping adrenaline in Roche’s blood, and spread shivering warmth through his limbs.

“Come here,” Iorveth said, reaching forward to cup a hand around his neck and pull him against Iorveth’s chest until their lips could meet.

Roche grunted into Iorveth’s mouth, shifting carefully, ensuring that he wasn’t jarring Iorveth’s injured leg. Iorveth’s hand slid up his neck and into his hair, keeping him in place as Iorveth devoured him with feverish intent. Roche melted into Iorveth’s chest, moaning softly at the way Iorveth’s palm on the small of his back pulled him closer.

When they parted, Roche let his forehead rest on Iorveth’s and Iorveth sighed against his mouth. “When you fell,” he mumbled, pressing their lips together lightly.

“Mm?” Iorveth hummed.

“Fuck, scared the shit out of me, you crazy elf.”

Iorveth’s lips curled upward at the corners and his fingers stroked through Roche’s hair. “Can’t believe you wound up with children.”

Roche snorted, sucking across Iorveth’s jaw. “Kids like me. It’s weird.”

“What will you do with them?”

“Still figuring that out.” 

Iorveth tugged on his hair, forcing his head up so their eyes could meet. The elf hesitated for a moment and then took a deep breath and said in a rush, “come with me.”

“What?” Roche breathed, trying to convince himself that his heart wasn’t beating wildly.

Iorveth licked his lips. “Come with me. To Vergen, to the Free Pontar Valley. They’ll be safe there.”

Roche stared at him. “I – do you know who they are?”

Iorveth’s eyebrow cocked. “There are only so many children involved in a peace summit, Vernon. They’re Foltest’s bastards, aren’t they?”

“And you really think they’d be safe in a nonhuman town? I hardly think even non-Scoia’tael think highly of – well, of any of us,” Roche shrugged. He even understood why nonhumans didn’t like Foltest – the feeling was entirely mutual, after all, and the King had a lot more power to make the people he didn’t like disappear.

“I think they’ll be safe if Saskia vouches for them,” Iorveth said. “I’m not exactly civilians’ favorite either, but Saskia can keep order in the city, make sure there aren’t beatings.”

Now Roche was the one raising a disbelieving eyebrow. “What makes the Dragonslayer so special? I mean, she’s clearly a competent commander, but–” _but you have so much faith in her and it makes me feel some sort of way,_ he didn’t say.

“Saskia is not like any dh’oine you know,” Iorveth said confidently, “she’s – I’ve never met anyone like her. And she’s utterly honorable. If she gives you her word that she will keep the children safe, she will keep it.”

“Hmm,” Roche hummed, tilting his head. “It’s not just up to me, what happens to them. But Temeria won’t be safe now.” Thinking of that made grief weigh upon his shoulders, but this was the first time he’d had alone with Iorveth in what felt like ages and he shouldn’t even _want_ to have time alone with Iorveth, but he definitely did. 

And there was something about Iorveth nervously asking _come with me_ that had heat building in his chest, and he didn’t particularly want to think about Saskia or Temeria or the confounding tangle of events going on around them. What he _wanted_ was – well, was Iorveth.

Roche licked his lips, pulling his eyes away from Iorveth’s mouth to meet that single green eye that stared at him so intently. “Kiss me,” he whispered.

Iorveth did, brushing their lips together too lightly to be anything more than a tease. A growl built up in Roche’s chest and he let it rumble against Iorveth’s mouth. Iorveth grinned and bit at his lower lip in quick darts of movement before Roche could respond.

It was only when he brought his hands up to frame Iorveth’s face and held him in place that Roche was able to kiss him properly. Iorveth moaned, parting his mouth to let Roche suck on his lower lip and fuck a tongue into his mouth.

“Ahem,” someone coughed loudly, and the two of them froze, matching expressions of horror in their wide eyes.

Roche scrambled out of Iorveth’s lap, twisting to see who had sound them.

Rinn emerged, the two children hiding behind her like lumps under her cloak. Eyes peeked out from around each side of her waist. 

“I didn’t know you were married, Uncle Roche!” Anais said cheerfully. 

He choked on his own spit, coughing violently. Iorveth snorted and then broke into slightly hysterical giggles – really, there was no other word for it. Roche stared at Iorveth in astonishment – he’d never heard Iorveth laugh before, and like this? Little giggles that scrunched the corner of his eye, full bodied and deep – there was something so endearing about that.

“Holy fuck, you can giggle,” Roche said stupidly, and for some reason that had the children giggling too, but he couldn’t seem to look away from Iorveth, couldn’t seem to stop wishing he could feel those noises against his lips, swallow them right out of Iorveth’s lungs.

“What the fuck even is this life anymore?” Iorveth laughed and the absurdity of it all mixed with Iorveth’s reaction had a smile tugging at his own lips. 

“Adults are weird,” Boussy whispered to his sister, not at all as quietly as he probably thought. 

“They sure are,” said a bland monotone voice that Roche had never heard before. He whirled around to see Rinn nodding down at the children, giving him and Iorveth a look that was pure judgement – of their stupidity, not of – well, the whole really judgeable thing.

“You can _talk!?”_ he yelped.

Now the children joined in on the judging looks, and wow, they had definitely learned that look from their mother. Louisa La Valette was many things, but a sufferer of fools was not among them.

“Not usually in front of people,” Iorveth answered him. 

Rinn shrugged, then turned to Iorveth with the widest most shit-eating grin Roche had ever seen. “So, Iorveth, _are_ you married to Uncle Roche?”

Iorveth just laughed harder, covering his face with his hands as the hysterical note to his giggles grew stronger. 

“Who broke Iorveth?” Geralt asked from way too close behind Roche, considering he, again, hadn’t known anyone was there. Fucking hell, what was wrong with him?

“Geralt!?”

Geralt waved awkwardly, looking over the assembled group – Roche sitting on his ass where he’d fallen in shock, Iorveth sitting against the wall losing his shit, and Rinn with the children flanking her all crossed arms and an aura of being _unimpressed._

“Everything okay?”

“Uh…” 

“They’re going to seal the city in an hour. We should leave,” Geralt said, one perfectly arched eyebrow communicating all his thoughts.

Iorveth took great gasping breaths, trying to stop his giggles. “Of all the fucking things,” he managed to say, and Roche rather had to agree.

Unable to think of anything to say, but knowing he would need to, Roche pulled himself to his feet and held out his hands for the children. Anais darted in eagerly, knocking the breath out of him as her head thudded against his middle. Boussy reached out his hand and then pursed his lips, looking between Rinn, whose hand he was already holding, and Roche.

Roche smiled reluctantly, wondering if the hysteria was catching because everything about this moment felt bizarre and unreal. 

“You,” he started, petting through Anais’s hair, “you can’t tell anyone what you saw.”

“Which part?” Boussy asked, tilting his head. 

“What did they see?” Geralt’s eyebrow was edging into the judging-zone, and Roche felt that was really rather unfair. 

“The kissing part?” Anais said at the same time.

He flushed, but continued. “Right, that part. You can’t tell anyone about that.”

“Why not?”

Roche opened his mouth and suddenly realized he had no answer. But he was very sure that _anyone_ hearing about him and Iorveth would be very, very bad.

“A lot of people will have a problem with it,” Iorveth said, and there was something bitter in his tone that made a chill lodge itself in Roche’s chest. But Iorveth shifted and pressed his foot against Roche’s ankle and it felt almost – reassuring? 

Except there was nothing he needed reassuring about, of course. Absolutely nothing.

“Oooohhhh,” Anais said in a very knowing tone. Then, leaning towards Boussy, she ‘whispered’, “they’re like Mama and Papa.”

“...” 

Okay, that one, Roche hadn’t seen coming. He and _Iorveth_ were like Louisa and Foltest? In what world?

Boussy seemed to have no trouble seeing the connection, though, because he nodded knowledgeably, “everyone knows they’re married but they’re not really.”

“If everyone knows, I think I might have a heart attack,” Roche said faintly and Geralt snorted.

“You’re both shit at subtlety,” he said when Roche glared at him. “But honestly, I think your men might be even stupider.”

“You shut your fucking mouth,” both Iorveth and Roche snarled, automatically rising in defense of their people.

Geralt was not the slightest bit cowed, “isn’t that a good thing?”

Roche took a breath to respond, only to find he once again had no words. 

“Can we go now?” Anais asked.

“Yeah, I think we’d better,” Roche said, thoughtlessly offering a hand to help Iorveth get up. 

He realized what he’d done a moment later, but before he could withdraw his hand, Iorveth was clasping it and he braced himself against Iorveth’s weight as the elf stumbled to his feet. Rinn was there seconds later, nudging her shoulder under Iorveth’s. She was just slightly too short for that to really be comfortable for either of them.

“I can–” Geralt offered, but Iorveth shook his head. 

“We need someone who can defend us if we get attacked by any stragglers.”

Roche wanted to be offended at the implication that he couldn’t defend them, but he had to admit, it would be a lot easier to protect the kids if the best fighter amongst them had his hands free.

“Iorveth’s right. Come on, Boussy,” Roche held out his hand again and this time, Boussy took it. Anais tugged on his other hand, leaning her weight back so that his grip on her was the only thing holding her up. 

He braced his weight and let her play for a few moments before tugging her back to her feet. “Let’s get you down to the Temerian camp. Natalis is probably frothing at the mouth over where I’ve spirited you off to.”

Together, the six of them walked out of the city gates together – Geralt with his hand on his sword, Roche with Anais and Boussy holding his hands, and Iorveth and Rinn, awkwardly limping along beside them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic keeps growing. I am honestly not sure how many chapters it will be, but probably several more.


	10. Arc 1: So What Happens Now?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Those that fled Loc Muinne together make decisions about their future.

It was late evening by the time they descended the mountain and approached the Temerian and refugee camp at the mouth of the Pontar. They could hear the camp long before they could see anything more than the dozens of campfires, the commotion putting them all on edge, even though they tried to hide it from the children. The eight year olds had grown tired some time ago, unused to so much walking, especially after such an eventful day. Roche had hauled them up, Anais on his right hip and Boussy on his left. 

It just figured that as the one adult with human strength around, Roche was stuck holding the heaviest load. But walking into camp with the accused Kingslayer holding one of Foltest’s heirs? That would be disastrous, especially considering the yelling they could hear coming from the camp.

Geralt cocked his head, listening. “Shit. Sounds like the Scoia’tael think that Roche has abducted their leader. And a lot of arguing about whether or not to go searching for you, Iorveth. But at the word that you were with Roche, the Temerians seem to think you’ve abducted their royal heirs.”

“Great,” Iorveth muttered.

“Saskia is the only thing keeping the peace.”

“Anything about Natalis?” Roche asked.

“Uh, he’s saying a lot of things about you that you don’t want to hear,” Geralt winced. “Loudly.”

“Yeah, ‘bout what I expected. But fighting hasn’t broken out?”

Geralt shook his head. 

“Good.”

The walked in silence the rest of the way and Roche’s arms were aching by the time they finally drew close enough for the camp watch to spot them. Then there was even more shouting. Eventually, they walked up to the camp entrance and were met by several supremely unimpressed figures. John Natalis’s face was flushed red with anger but the sheer relief on his face at the sight of the children had Roche feeling a little guilty. Next to him, Saskia had her hands on her hips, clearly expecting a prompt explanation. On Saskia’s other side, Triss stood with her arms croseds, worry written into every line of her body. Unexpectedly, while Sylvar and Taredd were standing there waiting for their leader, Iorveth’s second in command was conspicuously missing.

He glanced at Iorveth and saw the way his jaw flexed as he noticed. Was there some issue between Iorveth and Ciaran? Before, Roche would’ve guessed that Ciaran would walk through fire for Iorveth. Now, he wondered if Ciaran was the one that had argued against going out looking for Iorveth and _why_ if that was the case.

“We were beginning to wonder if you’d gotten yourself sealed within the city,” Saskia said once they were close enough to hear without shouting.

“We avoided the bulk of the fighting,” Roche reported, nodding down at the children. Natalis darted forward, then stopped to hover awkwardly in front of Roche. Given the way his arms were screaming at him, he had absolutely no problem handing Anais over to the one Temerian outside of his team that he could trust to put Temeria’s interests first. Natalis grunted, but quickly rearranged her on his hip. 

“We’ll need to find someone to stay with them,” Natalis said, voice surprisingly soft as he looked down at the sleeping children.

“They’ll stay with the Blue Stripes until we make any decisions,” Roche declared, tone brokering no argument.

Natalis pursed his lips, but nodded, “I meant something along the lines of a governess.”

“Their previous one is safe, as long as we take care of the traitor. It was Count Maravel – he kidnapped the children for Nilfgaard and gave them to Dethmold.”

Natalis snarled, “Maravel! Rest easy – I cut down the traitor during the Summit. But we shall discuss this more after rest – you look like you’re about to drop.”

He hummed, shifting Boussy on his hip. “Rest would be appreciated.”

Saskia cleared her throat loudly, and he turned to see Iorveth and Rinn surrounded by their comrades behind Saskia, while Geralt and Triss held each other closely.

“I will be holding a council for all interested parties at dawn, to decide what happens next,” Saskia said. “We will expect a status report then. In the meantime, your companions can show you to your tents.”

Roche bowed his head, “thank you.”

He nodded at Geralt and Triss with a slight smile and met Iorveth’s eyes briefly, then gladly allowed himself to be directed towards the Blue Stripes’ camp – set at the forefront of the Temerian camp near Saskia, Triss, and the Scoia’tael’s setup, he noticed. Natalis’ tent was right next to the Blue Stripes’ and Ves immediately came out to meet them. He debated asking her to hold Boussy, because at this point, he couldn’t really feel his arms, but Ves and kids were a – well, not a great mix. Ves was of the opinion that the earlier a child learned to use a knife, the better. She’d gifted Shorty’s eighth child with a fine set of throwing daggers – for the girl’s third birthday. 

So perhaps it was better to deliver Boussy to bed on his own. 

“You’ve arranged a watch?” He asked Ves as they entered his own tent, which had already been set up with additional bedrolls. He placed Boussy gently in one, tucking him in as well as he could, and Natalis did the same with Anais, though it was clear the old soldier had no idea what he was doing with children.

_Join the club,_ Roche thought absently. Just because children liked him for some reason didn’t mean he had any idea what he was doing. But these were Foltest’s kids and Temeria’s future, and dammit, he would _learn_ to be what they needed.

He fell asleep as soon as his face hit the pillow, on his stomach with his arms dead weights beside him. 

It felt like only minutes later that Ves was poking him to wake up. He grunted and tried to ignore the jabbing into his side, but then a small, high-pitched voice asked, “Uncle Roche? Are you dead?” with enough worry that he found himself struggling up onto his elbows.

“‘m fine, kiddo,” he mumbled sleepily. His arms reminded him loudly that they’d carried two large children halfway down the mountain yesterday, in addition to all the combat, and he flopped back onto his face with trembling shoulders. “Ugh.”

“It’s nearly dawn,” Ves reported, mercilessly continuing to poke sharp fingertips into his side. “You’ve got a council meeting to attend.”

Roche groaned dramatically. Gods, all he wanted was to sleep for eternity, preferably with someone next to him – someone adult-sized, _not_ the children, though they were sweet. The need to check that they were truly here and safe had him twisting his head to open one eye and assess them in the dim pre-dawn light. 

Boussy was like him, yawning and rubbing his eyes, clearly less than pleased to be awake. Anais, on the other hand, was already bouncing with energy, and she apparently decided that Ves needed help and started poking at his other side.

He could already tell that Anais would have _no_ trouble putting power behind her attacks once they started teaching her self-defense.

“Okay, okay, ‘m up!” Roche contorted himself upward until he balanced on his knees on the bedroll and yawned. Then he looked over a grinning Anais and pouting Boussy and realized, “we..need to feed them.”

“Yes, that is a general requirement of life,” Ves responded. “Freshen up and get ready. Fenn is making breakfast, so it should be edible.”

Roche grunted, dragging a hand down his face. His body ached in a way that reminded him he wasn’t exactly young anymore and he forced himself to stretch until he felt like he could move without his bones crackling like fat over a fire. 

Ves had thoughtfully left him a basin of water, and he splashed water on his face until he finally felt like a human being again. 

Outside the tent, logs and rocks had been arranged around a campfire, and Anais and Boussy happily sat next to each other, slurping up porridge and making faces at each other as they ate. Half his men were yawning as much as he was, and that made Roche feel slightly better.

“Eat up, Boss,” Fenn grinned, far too energetic for this early in the morning, and passed him his own bowl of porridge.

He hummed his thanks and dug in, belatedly remembering that he should send word to the ship that they were holding the council. 

“Silas, need you to run to the ship and let Brigida and PT know that it’s safe to come out. And if Brigida can come to the council meeting, it’ll be good to show that we do have _someone_ competent to look after the kids.”

“Yes, sir!” Silas saluted and took off running down to the river.

“Ves, I want you to come to the council with me. The rest of you are welcome to come or stay as you please. I expect that afterwards, we will have a decision to make,” Roche said gruffly.

Thirteen blinked, “what decision?”

Finch thwapped him over the head. “About what comes next, idiot. About Temeria and the future and where we fit in.”

“Oh.”

Roche licked his lips, pulling together his words carefully. “You should know – my priority is the kids. I will go wherever they do.”

“Duh,” Shorty snorted. “Where do you think might be proposed?”

“Vergen, probably, given the new Queen Saskia is mediating. Temeria, of course, but I doubt anyone will be able to think of effective security for that.” He turned to the kids, noticing the way Anais was clearly listening in and trying to follow the conversation while Boussy just looked bored. “Anais, Boussy, is there somewhere you want to go?”

“Back to Mama!” Boussy said immediately.

“Where _is_ Louisa La Valette?” Roche asked.

“Last report, still at La Valette castle with her son Aryan, but that’s several days old. If I were them, I’d head to Novigrad – nice neutral territory, but the city is safe from invaders and if they make deals with the right people, they could live very comfortably,” Shorty said.

“Could Novigrad be safe enough for the kids?”

Shorty’s face contorted as he considered that. “Maybe? I mean, the neutrality could be useful, but all it takes is one assassin sneaking in and – well,” he darted a look at the kids and cleared his throat.

“I’m leaning towards Vergen,” Roche said honestly. 

“You want to bring Temeria’s heirs to a kingdom of elves and dwarves!?” Ves asked incredulously.

“Yes,” he answered seriously, “the people of Vergen practically worship Saskia. I think if she guarantees their safety, they _will_ be safe. There’s no reason to tell the nonhumans who they are – and without that, there’s no reason anyone should wish them any harm.”

Ves’s dubious face clearly conveyed her thoughts, but she didn’t argue against him. He wondered if anyone honestly had any better ideas – Natalis included.

Roche cleared his throat, “Natalis is going to have to lead the troops back home. Even though,” he swallowed harshly, “even though Temeria has fallen, fighting shouldn’t break out immediately, even with the most eager nobles. You will have time to go home to your families – and to bring them elsewhere, if that’s what you wish.”

“Trying to break up with us, Bossman?” Finch asked, a small smile on his lips. 

“Never,” Roche promised. “Y’all are the ex-wife I can never escape.”

Several of them snorted loudly, and Anais’s forehead creased in confusion as she mouthed “ex-wife” to herself. Great, was he going to have to explain the joke?

The first rays of dawn cast shadows across the mountains, and Roche rose to his feet. “Think about what you want to do next. Obviously you have my support whatever you choose, and hopefully we’ll have a better sense of what Temeria’s future will be after the meeting.” 

Anais and Boussy had finished eating, and when they saw him get up, they leapt to their feet as well – Anais with a _lot_ more bounce than Boussy, who still yawned into his hand. He held out his hands to them and Boussy grabbed him without hesitation today. Anais took his hand with a pout, and he had a sudden premonition that her energy would be a problem in the no-doubt long council meeting before them. 

“Why don’t you skip along beside me?” he offered. “There’s gonna be a lot of sitting quietly coming up.”

Both children groaned. “Do we have to?” Anais whined.

“I’m afraid so. So let’s get some energy out on the way, hmm?”

Anais sighed heavily and then immediately launched into a cartwheel. Ves made a small impressed noise and followed after her, protectively hovering a few paces behind her.

Roche looked down at Boussy and the boy just yawned at him in a way that somehow felt pointed.

“Yeah, I want to go back to sleep too,” he said, and Boussy’s yawn made him yawn.

The “council chamber” was actually a shallow cave in the mountainside that Triss had cast an illusion over to give them a nice big table and plenty of chairs. Just outside the cave, Pillow Tits stood, a wall of muscle that sheltered petite little Brigida. As soon as Brigida saw the children approaching, she abandoned her safe spot and ran towards them.

“Oh, Anais! Boussy! I’m so glad you’re safe!” 

Anais eagerly jumped up and hugged Brigida. “We thought they got you! I’m glad you’re okay.”

Brigida stroked through Anais’s hair and Boussy waved at her, still clinging to Roche’s hand. “I have something for you,” she smiled at them, kneeling down and pulling her bag over her shoulder. The first toy she pulled out was a wooden knight marionette and Anais let out a joyful squeal.

“Arthur! You saved him!” Anais immediately made Sir Arthur tap dance over to Roche to show him with pride. Roche grinned down at her, making appropriately awestruck noises.

Next, Brigida pulled out a pouch and held it out to Boussy. Boussy eagerly darted forward to snatch it, pulling open the ties to reveal a collection of wooden gears. Each piece was designed so that they could snap together to form any shape Boussy wanted. 

Roche, who had grown up with toys that didn’t move and sticks from the garden, was suitably impressed.

He knelt down. “Can you two stay with Brigida during the meeting and entertain yourselves?” Anais nodded, and Boussy was already absorbed in clicking gears together, juggling the pieces with the pouch under his arm. “I want you here because I think you should have a say in what happens to you in the future. But I know a lot of it will probably be boring. It’s okay if you don’t want to pay attention to the adults speaking, as long as you stay quiet. All right?”

“We’ll be good,” Anais promised with a kind of earnestness that made Roche’s heart clench tight.

He tucked some of her messy hair behind her ear, inwardly scolding himself for not presenting the royal heirs in the state they should be official seen in. But there was little he could do about it now, and besides, he wouldn’t have known how to style their hair properly. So he smoothed down Anais’s hair as much as he could with his palm and smiled at her.

“Let’s go,” he said and Ves preceded them into the council chamber, to verify it’s security. Brigida followed her, with the children walking on either side of her, and Roche brought up the rear with Pillow Tits, scanning the room as his eyes adjusted to the light.

Most everyone had already arrived, leaving a handful of empty chairs between Geralt and Triss. When he cocked his eyebrow at Triss, taking a seat next to her, she spoke a quick update into his mind.

_Natalis is wary of Geralt still. He wants a clear “Temerian” side over here, to match the elves supporting Saskia._

Ah, that made sense. And explained why Geralt was sitting next to Iorveth’s second in command. Ciaran, Rinn, and Iorveth sat next to Saskia, and Natalis was glaring at all of them equally, even though it meant he had to lean past Saskia to do so. 

Triss’s illusion thoughtfully included a rug to the side of the table, and Brigida guided the children over to it. There, Anais and Boussy would be able to listen if they wished, but could play without disrupting the meeting.

Saskia cleared her throat, clearly taking charge. Surprisingly, Natalis actually deferred to her with a respectful tilt of his head.

“Before we talk about where to go from here, I believe we could all use some updates on what happened at the Summit yesterday. John?” Saskia turned to Natalis with a small smile and an equally respectful nod.

“First, the realm of the Free Pontar Valley with Queen Saskia of Vergen at its head has been officially recognized by the Kings of the North,” Natalis said, gesturing to Saskia. “Temeria, however… without the royal heirs and without the nobles’ support, King Radovid declared that dividing the kingdom along barony lines would be unacceptable. He and King Henselt proposed splitting Temeria between the two of them – and the filthy treacherous nobles agreed! I – well,” Natalis cleared his throat, shifting his shoulders uncomfortably.

Saskia took over with a slight look of amusement on her face. “When the traitors were revealed, Constable Natalis attacked, cutting down one of the nobles before the Kings responded.”

“Maravel?” Roche asked. Natalis nodded, and vicious satisfaction rose in his gut. Good. As if kidnapping the children weren’t treachery enough.

“Radovid and Henselt responded pretty much how you’d expect,” Natalis said, sounding almost sheepish. “Queen Saskia saved my life when the fighting broke out.”

Roche tilted his head. “Why side with Temeria, your highness?”

“Though John Natalis’s course of action was ill-advised, his cause was just. That is the very basis of the Free Pontar Valley. What other choice should I have made?” 

As Saskia spoke, he could almost feel his spirit rise with her. There was something about her that made him want to leap to his feet and follow her into battle, and he was starting to understand why Iorveth seemed so enamored with her. From what he’d seen of her on the battlefield, she lived up to her aura, too.

“That’s not all,” Triss spoke up. “I was abducted by the Kingslayer, but he was working with the Nilfgaardians. Nilfgaard is the one behind all of this – King Demavend and King Foltest’s deaths, the resulting unrest, the kidnapping of the Temerian Royal Heirs – it was all a ploy to weaken the North.”

“With what aim?’ Natalis asked, face pale.

“I learned from the Kingslayer before he was dealt with,” Geralt said. “Nilfgaardian troops have crossed the Yaruga. War is coming, and they’ve effectively eliminated half the resistance the North might offer.”

A dark silence settled over the group for a long moment before Saskia rose to her feet. “Nilfgaard will come for us, yes. This is not unexpected. We defeated the Aedirnian lords and Henselt. I believe the Free Pontar Valley can prevail.”

“As for Temeria,” Natalis said, “I believe we can make a final stand against Nilfgaard, and against Kaedwen and Redania. I will return to Temeria and ask those who will fight for her to join me.”

Triss shook her head, “Temeria is lost, Natalis. But not forever – as long as those children live, Temeria can be reunited. One day, they can reclaim their heritage.”

“There are provisions in the kingdom charter for young monarchs,” Natalis argued. “We cannot just surrender Temeria!”

“You would fight a battle against three foes attacking from two directions at once? It is suicide, John. Would not Temeria be better served by saving her people’s lives?” Saskia asked.

Saying what he knew he needed to hurt more than anything Roche had ever felt before. “They’re right, Natalis. Do you really think we can keep the children safe in Temeria as its beset by unrest? As Radovid and Henselt _and_ Nilfgaard send assassins? Because they will. Anais and Boussy represent the possibility of a future for Temeria, a direct threat to their goals.” He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling as if he was abandoning Temeria, even though he _knew_ protecting the children was the most important thing. But to surrender to the idea that foreign rule of Temeria was inevitable? It hurt, carving a chasm deep in his gut. He had spent his entire life fighting for Temeria. To admit she was lost?

He opened his eyes and looked over at the children. Anais sat facing the table, playing with her knight marionette. Boussy’s back was towards Roche, but he could see the shape of a star forming from the wooden gears Brigida had given him. 

They were Foltest’s children, the future of Temeria. Keeping them safe was the right move.

“I don’t believe we can securely protect Anais and Boussy on our own,” Roche said. Without thinking about it, his eyes darted from Natalis’s furious face to meet Iorveth’s gaze. He licked his lips, and turned between the two of them to Saskia. “If Queen Saskia would permit it,” he picked his words with care, “I think Vergen could be made safe, with the help of the Vergeni defenses.”

“It’s not your place to make that decision!” Natalis roared, jumping to his feet. 

Roche turned to meet his glare steadily, “no, it’s Anais and Boussy’s decision.”

As one, the whole group turned to look at the two eight year old children. Boussy stiffened, curling in on himself, but Anais stood up and met them head on. “We talked about it. The Blue Stripes said going back to Mama and Ari probably won’t be safe. But if we’re safe, they can come to us. So we wanna stay with Uncle Roche, where he says it’s safe.”

Roche felt his jaw go slack as he registered her calling him _Uncle._ She’d done it before, he vaguely recalled, but he’d been so surprised about everything else that was going on – and the whole “married to Iorveth” thing – that it hadn’t really penetrated his brain. _Uncle._ She trusted him enough to call him family?

Saskia cleared her throat, calling everyone’s attention away from the children. “I would be honored to offer the Free Pontar Valley as a safe haven – not just for Anais and Boussy, but for any Temerians that wish to flee the conflict.” There was shifting around the table as they each processed that. It was more than Roche had even dared to hope for. “There will be a condition, however. The Free Pontar Valley shall be truly free. I aim to build a land free of prejudice, where all are regarded as equals. If your people choose to come here, they must accept that – or be held accountable for any actions that violate our laws.”

Natalis looked pained, but he said, “I will convey that to the Temerian people. If – if Roche is taking the royal children to Vergen, then I trust that he will ensure the fair and just treatment of any Temerian refugees.”

It was a concession and a vow all in one. Roche met his gaze steadily and nodded, accepting the responsibility.

“Then we are agreed?” Saskia checked around the table, and no one objected. “Splendid. We invite you to accompany us to Vergen, then, Vernon Roche, Anais, Boussy.” Saskia nodded to each of them as she spoke their name and the personal welcome felt – oddly validating? What was it about Saskia’s regard that just made a person feel better about themselves?

“Additionally,” Saskia continued, “I would like to make an offer to Triss Merigold.” She turned to face the sorceress, “I find myself in need of an advisor. I understand that you served King Foltest loyally for years. I would ask that you come to the Free Pontar Valley, as my Royal Advisor.” She held up her hand, “I don’t expect an answer now. Take the time you need to think about it. We have yet to decide how to make the return journey, as I came here via Phillippa’s portal.”

“I have a ship,” Roche offered. “We can fit 20, but it’ll be tight. Still, it’s a two day journey by water.”

Ves growled lowly, clearly realizing this would mean traveling with elves again. Which did not factor into Roche’s decision to offer his ship. Not at all.

Triss looked at Natalis. “What will you do?”

“As a representative of Temeria, I must return – my men deserve to go home to their families, if nothing else. And I will share word of the Free Pontar Valley. After that, it will depend on many things.”

“We have a plan then? Those here bound for Vergen shall board the Blue Stripes’ ship. Those headed to Temeria will follow John Natalis.” Saskia clapped her hands together. “Wonderful. I don’t know about you gentlemen, but I would prefer to leave sooner rather than later. How quickly can we be ready to go?”

“I’ll send word to my ship, but should be within the hour,” Roche said.

Natalis smiled grimly. “I’m afraid packing up the Temerian camp will take much longer. However, there is also the civilian population that accompanied us from Loc Muinne.”

Saskia nodded. “I shall extend my offer of refuge – and my condition – to any who need it. But they will likely need a guide to journey over land.”

“I volunteer,” Ciaran said. Iorveth jerked his head to stare at his second in command.

Saskia smiled at him. “Very well. Let us all get to work, then.” Dismissal delivered, she turned to Natalis, “let us go talk to the civilians. Ciaran?”

“I will accompany you,” the elf nodded, and Roche saw Iorveth rise to object.

“Ciaran–” Ciaran turned to Iorveth with a dark look on his face and said something in Elder that had Iorveth reeling back as if slapped. Rinn and Geralt both gasped roughly.

Ciaran turned away and joined Saskia. She frowned at him, looking over Iorveth, but she didn’t say anything.

Did everyone know Elder except for Roche? He nudged Triss and projected his thoughts loudly, _what did he say?_

_I only caught part of it,_ Triss said in his mind, _but it was something like “you no longer speak for me,” then a word I don’t know, but it certainly didn’t sound nice. Discord in the Scoia’tael?_

_Apparently,_ he frowned. Iorveth looked like someone had punched him in the stomach, and from Rinn and Geralt’s reactions, whatever Ciaran had said had been designed to hurt. 

While he was busy staring at Iorveth, Triss pointedly waited until Natalis had left, and then called, “Geralt, come meet the future rulers of Temeria.”

She knelt down next to Brigida and smiled softly at the children. “Hello Anais, Boussy. I don’t know if you remember me, but I worked for your father.”

“You’re the one that made the pretty sparkles,” Boussy said and Triss grinned.

“I am!” She waved her fingers to create a few sparkles in front of him and Boussy gasped, reaching for them. 

Geralt came around the table and crouched down. “We met yesterday, but I didn’t introduce myself. I’m Geralt of Rivia, a Witcher.”

“What’s a Witcher?” Anais asked. “You were with Papa when he – when he–” she bit her lip and Geralt shot a panicked look at Triss at the prospect of tears. 

“A Witcher is a monster hunter,” Roche said, hoping distraction would waylay sobbing.

“Is that why you were with Papa? To hunt the monster? But he surprised you too.”

Geralt floundered, uncertain what to say.

“Yes,” Triss said. “Your father hired Geralt and asked him to help find you during the siege.”

“But we’re not monsters,” Boussy objected. “Are we? Can we be? ‘cause that would be awesome!”

“No, you are not,” Brigida said firmly. “Now, why don’t we go get ready to ride Uncle Roche’s boat?”

Roche nodded at her with a smile, more than happy to leave the children in the care of someone who knew what they were doing. He turned to look back at Iorveth, but in the time he’d been distracted, Iorveth and Rinn had left. Damn, he’d really wanted a chance to talk to Iorveth before they’d be stuck on a boat with very little real privacy.

“Ves, head back to the camp and get everything in order. PT, go to the ship and give them a heads up – assume that we’ll be at full capacity,” he ordered. They each nodded at him, and after they left, he turned to Geralt. “You understood what Ciaran said before.” It wasn’t a question and Geralt didn’t pretend it was. “What did he say?”

Geralt grimaced. “It was pretty crude, Roche. I don’t–”

“Geralt.”

“Essentially? ‘You don’t speak for me, human fucker’.” Roche blanched and Geralt hurried to specify, “the precise meaning is more like, uh, human sympathizer, I guess? Lover of humans.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah.”

Roche nodded to Geralt and Triss and ducked out of the council chamber to look for Iorveth.

He didn’t have to go far. A hand grabbed his wrist and pulled him into a copse of trees, and when Roche turned with his fist raised, he was only half-surprised to see Iorveth.

“Hey,” he said stupidly, weirdly unable to draw his eyes away from Iorveth’s face. 

Iorveth noticed, lips curving into a smirk. The tongue that flicked across those lips had his mouth watering, even before Iorveth said, “you’re coming with me.”

Roche bit his lip, half shrugging. “You did ask.” He stepped closer to Iorveth until they were breathing the same air.

“I did,” Iorveth murmured, eye flicking down to Roche’s mouth. 

Roche had to close the distance, had to reach out and cup Iorveth’s face to bring their lips together. Iorveth sighed into him, tugging him closer. But he noticed that Iorveth’s shoulders remained tense, and the desperation in their kiss felt closer to shame.

Part of Roche wanted to take it as a sign that Iorveth was losing interest in him, but the way Iorveth’s hands clutched at him didn’t exactly say _unwanted._ And knowing what had been said– 

He pulled back, stroking his thumb over Iorveth’s cheek soothingly as he tilted their foreheads together. “Geralt told me what Ciaran said,” he whispered, firming his touch so that Iorveth couldn’t pull away entirely. “What happened? I thought he adored you?”

Iorveth groaned, dropping his head onto Roche’s shoulder. “It’s – there were always Scoia’tael that were less comfortable with following Saskia – with following a _human._ I think – I believe our future lies in the Pontar Valley, living alongside humans and others.” He paused to take a breath, “Ciaran – and likely others back in Vergen – feel that that’s not the promise I made them as Scoia’tael. They want a life without humans at all.”

“And you don’t?” Roche asked curiously.

“I – not anymore,” Iorveth admitted. “It was always an inevitability that humans would win. It’s a simple matter of numbers. Soon there will be more half elves than full-blooded elves, and that’s – you can’t understand what it is to lose that.”

“No,” Roche said carefully, “but I can understand why you decided to follow Saskia. Even if it’s not the initial vision you had, you people might be able to finally be – well, people.” Iorveth pulled back to look up at him, something like astonishment writ large across his face. Roche shrugged, “there’s a lot about you I may not know or understand, but I never struggled to see the commander behind the decisions you made. Someone who sends people out with every knowledge that they might never return, but who does it anyway, because it must be done.”

Iorveth nodded, “except every one of those people are part of a species that’s slowly going extinct.”

“Fuck.”

Snorting, Iorveth buried his face in Roche’s neck again. “Yeah.”

Roche twisted his fingers through the hair that stuck out from beneath Iorveth’s bandana, wishing he could pet through all of it. 

“So what happens now?”

Iorveth shook his head, nuzzling his nose behind Roche’s ear. “Wish I knew. I think Ciaran’s planning something, but fuck if I know what.” Roche hummed, slipping his fingers slowly up under the bandana to stroke through Iorveth’s hair. Iorveth leaned into the touch and sighed, “can’t do anything about it until we all return to Vergen.”

Roche kissed across Iorveth’s exposed face, offering comfort the only real way he knew how. Iorveth’s head tilted, catching his lips as they ghosted over Iorveth’s cheek. Iorveth kissed him slowly, deeply, like he was worth taking time with. It made him shiver, and with one hand, he tugged on the buckles of Iorveth’s armor, wanting to touch skin. His other hand pushed deeper into Iorveth’s hair, and the strands had been hidden under a bandana for so long that they were stiff with sweat, but Iorveth melted into him when he scratched his blunt nails in little circles against Iorveth’s scalp.

He didn’t actually notice that he’d knocked Iorveth’s bandana off until the leather band Iorveth used to keep it in place fell onto his nose. Roche pulled back enough to bat it away before kissing Iorveth again – only Iorveth had suddenly gone stiff against him.

“What?” he asked, stepping back immediately. 

Iorveth almost seemed to curl into himself a little, shuddering when a cool wind blew across them. 

Eyebrows knit in confusion, Roche shuffled slightly closer. If Iorveth was cold – well, humans were nice and warm, after all. It wasn’t because he wanted to be holding Iorveth in his arms again.

“Iorveth? What’s wrong?”

“My bandana,” Iorveth said, tilting his head to hide the part of his face that was usually covered. 

“Oh. Sorry?” Roche bent down and recovered both the bandana and the leather headband, offering them hesitantly to Iorveth. “You’re not always gonna wear it, though, right?”

“What?”

“I mean – not that I’m assuming there’s an ‘always’ or anything. But it can’t be comfortable to wear all the time and you clearly like having your hair touched,” _and I really like touching it,_ he didn’t say.

Iorveth just blinked at him. “My...hair?”

“Yes?” Roche let his voice trail into a question, completely lost. “What, is it taboo to touch an elf’s hair or something? Shit, it isn’t, is it?”

“It’s not something you’d do to a casual acquaintance, no,” Iorveth said, staring at him in confusion. “Most people notice the scars before the hair.”

The scars? Oh.

Well, now Roche just felt stupid. He’d honestly just...kind of forgotten about them?

“Fuck, sorry,” he said, a sour feeling rising in his stomach. He’d fucked up, forced Iorveth to reveal more than he was comfortable just because he’d wanted to touch Iorveth’s hair. He was an idiot. “I – if you don’t want me to see, I won’t look.”

“No,” Iorveth said, voice breathy. Iorveth curled his fingers through one of Roche’s hands, and dragged it up to his face, to rest against the cheek he usually kept hidden from sight. “I – you can look.” 

Iorveth’s hand was trembling minutely against his and Roche was getting the sense this was a way bigger deal than he’d realized. He swallowed and brought their joined hands up to push Iorveth’s hair away from where it flopped down to conceal Iorveth’s eye. 

He’d known, of course, that Iorveth had lost his eye. The soldier who’d done it had bragged openly about how he’d killed some Scoia’tael bigshot. Supposedly the hit had been unsurvivable, the speartip literally breaking on the Scoia’tael’s skull.

The story had been very popular amongst Temerian army bases for a good year and a half. And then Iorveth had shown up, one eye covered and very much not dead.

So he’d known more or less what to expect. But to actually see it, to see the true extent of the injury– 

“Fuck,” Roche swore, his thumb stroking just beneath Iorveth’s missing eye. “How did you survive? I always assumed the story was exaggerated, but–”

“I almost didn’t,” Iorveth’s voice sounded like it was being scraped raw from his throat. “Apparently it changed me. Not for the better, in most people’s eyes.”

“Well, yeah, you took a fucking spear to the eye! Who wouldn’t be changed by that!?”

Iorveth snorted roughly. “Somehow I don’t think that’s what Cedric meant, but thank you.”

“Cedric?” Roche blinked, “that ex-Scoia’tael in Flotsam? He – ah, Geralt said he died defending Triss from the Kingslayer.”

Iorveth inhaled sharply, face frozen. “Oh. That...I–” he cleared his throat. “That’s an end he would have wanted, protecting somebody.”

Roche swallowed. “I’m guessing you knew him?”

Iorveth’s chuckle sounded like gravel scratching across rock. “You could say that.”

“Sorry.” He couldn’t seem to stop messing up today, could he? “Uh, Geralt said he found Cedric in the forest. He went home before – yeah.” Roche bit his lip to stop himself from speaking. 

Iorveth sighed, a huff of breath full of sorrow and grief and pain, and Roche couldn’t help but reach out and pull Iorveth’s face into his shoulder again. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, stroking through Iorveth’s hair with gentle fingers. There wasn’t really anything else he could say, but Iorveth let himself be held, let Roche clutch him close and lean back so that their weight was against a tree. 

They stayed like that for a long time, until Roche had stopped paying attention to anything except the way their breathing moved in sync and the way Iorveth curled into him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've officially acknowledged that this will be a series now, so uh...yay? I can't believe how much it keeps expanding.
> 
> Also, fun fact: Geralt said he "dealt with" the Kingslayer for a reason. Letho's not showing up here, but he is out there for Geralt in W3.


	11. Arc 2: To Vergen!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Blue Stripes, the Scoia'tael, Geralt, Triss, Saskia, Anais, and Boussy all travel to Vergen on a ship that suddenly feels far too small.

Fitting eight Blue Stripes commandos, four Scoia’tael, two Temerian royal children, a Queen, a Witcher, a Mage, and a governess all on one ship was – well, Roche really wished they had stocked up on alcohol while they’d been in Loc Muinne.

Except, of course, that he was currently responsible for Temeria’s entire future and he would never drink on the job. Much.

But he really, really wanted to.

The problem was, there was just too much going on. The elves were still as skittish as they were last time, but they seemed surprisingly less inclined to goad his men into fights. Perhaps they were on their best behavior for Saskia? His own men were less wild than usual, all clearly preoccupied with thoughts of what would come next. They were going to Vergen now, but many of them had families back in Temeria that would need to be sent for, and did they really want to move their whole lives? 

Not that there would be much of an option, soon. The Blue Stripes knew all too well what kind of collateral damage war caused – and Vizima was the capital, the location of the royal palace and the central port where all the rivers in Temeria met. It would be highly contested – which meant that while the armies wouldn’t burn it all down, civilians would be directly in the way.

Roche had given them Lily the Messenger Falcon to contact their families and start making plans, but while Lily was fast, she was still just a little falcon. Which meant that once their messages were penned and sealed, all that was left was for them to wait.

Waiting was not a skill Roche had looked for when recruiting them, unfortunately. Which meant that he had several restless commandos pacing the deck and making the sailors anxious.

When they’d boarded the ship mid-afternoon, Roche had set Saskia, Anais, Boussy, and Brigida up in the Captain’s cabin – the nicest part of the ship and the only thing close to worthy of their stations. The rest of them would be sharing the now-overcrowded crew quarters below deck come nightfall, but until then, they were very much proving that no matter how sizable a ship looked from the outside, it was entirely too cramped inside.

Geralt and Triss were trying to keep to themselves, clearly interested in making up for lost time. Unfortunately for Geralt, Triss was just as concerned about Temeria as Roche was, and she kept staring off into the distance, gnawing on her lip and absently dancing a stone around her fingers without ever actually touching it.

Sylvar and Thirteen both seemed entranced by this casual use of magic, following the stone with their eyes as Triss waved her fingers up and down and the stone continued to circle around each digit, shifting in the air with the passing breeze. Taredd and Iorveth were trying to pretend they weren’t distracted by the movement, but Roche was close enough to hear how their conversation kept petering off, even if he couldn’t understand a word of Elder.

Speaking of, he should really see if he could change that. Not that he could ask an elf directly to teach him Elder Speech, but perhaps Geralt, or maybe…

Well, the children would need an education of some sort, right? Brigida would surely know what they were being taught, and he could find tutors...probably? Or maybe Vergen had a community school, like the ones in Vizima where Shorty sent his kids. 

Fuck, what was he doing, taking responsibility for these children? He had no idea what he was doing.

Brigida, he reminded himself. Brigida was competent and she had been caring for the children for some time now. She would know what was important for future rulers to know.

Roche shook his head, trying to stop his thoughts from spiraling and knocked on the door to the Captain’s cabin. 

Brigida opened the door and beckoned him inside. “Everything okay, Vernon?”

“Yeah,” he attempted a weak smile, knowing she could probably read his anxiety on his face. “I just – uh, I wanted to talk about the children’s education. If you – I’m hoping you know what they were being taught? Like...subjects? And...stuff?”

Brigida laughed at him, “relax, darling, yes, I’ve been pulling together everything I think you’ll need to know about the care they need when we get to – Vergen, you said it was? The biggest open question is actually about socialization.” 

Roche blinked and Brigida gave him the same look she always wore when calling him an idiot.

“They’re children, Vernon. They can entertain themselves, yes, but they need interaction – and not just with adults. They need other children, need to be able to make friends and have a life outside of just – well, just being future rulers.”

“Makes sense,” he said, “so what’s the problem? I assume Vergen has children.”

“Yes, but who will those children think they are? Can they be Anais and Boussy La Valette, heirs to a fallen realm? Or do they need to pretend to be someone else?” Brigida put her hands on her hips. “It’s hard to make friends when you’re hiding who you are. If you’re going to ask them to do that, you need to give them time to learn their cover.”

Roche bit his lip, then turned to Saskia, who was reading a report while sitting next to the children playing on the floor. “Queen Saskia,” he called.

“Just Saskia, please,” she smiled at him, immediately giving him her full attention.

“Right. Saskia,” he cleared his throat and approached to sit next to Boussy. “Do you believe it would be safe for Anais and Boussy to reveal who they are? You know your people better than anything I can guess at.”

“Actually, I have a proposition related to that.” Saskia set her parchment aside and turned to the children. “Anais, Boussy – you’re aware that many expect you to become rulers, yes?”

Anais nodded, “like Papa.”

“Do you want to do that? To rule a kingdom?”

Boussy shrugged, continuing to play with his wooden gears. Anais made a face as she thought. “I guess?”

Saskia chuckled, “I know it’s a lot to ask. But I ask because I’d like to offer you two a – well, an apprenticeship, essentially.” 

Roche drew back in surprise and Brigida gasped quietly, but Anais looked interested.

“What would that mean?”

“I am a new Queen,” Saskia said, “and I am working to establish a new state. It’s going to take a lot of work, and I could use some help. I can offer you an education in running a kingdom, in exchange for your help with the details of doing so – age appropriate, of course. I will have advisors and aids, so you will not be alone, but I would like you to help me build the Free Pontar Valley.”

Roche gaped. Was she serious? That would be an _amazing_ asset for Temeria’s future rulers. To offer all of that freely? Surely there was something Saskia wanted. “What’s the catch?” he asked.

Saskia smiled as if his suspicion amused her. “As I said, I am new to Queenship. I know how to lead an army, but to run a kingdom? I have ideas, yes – but that is not the same as knowing what I’m doing. We can learn together how to govern.” She turned back to the children, “you don’t have to accept right now. Take time to think it over and talk amongst yourselves – but as you were discussing their education, I wanted to share.”

She picked up her parchment again and went back to reading, as if they weren’t all staring at her gobsmacked. 

“Right,” Roche said eventually. “Thank you.”

Brigida wrapped an arm around his, tugging him away so they had the illusion of privacy to speak unheard.

“Isn’t she amazing?” Brigida whispered, “she’s good with the kids, too. They were immediately comfortable around her! It’s hard to believe she’s for real, but I think I love her.”

Still feeling dazed, he mumbled, “yeah, she seems to have that effect on people.”

“I’ll take a look at my notes, but if we schedule it right, they could get all the lessons they need _and_ apprentice with Saskia. They’ll be the best-prepared bastard children to ever vie for a throne.”

“Yeah…” he blinked and shook his head, trying to stop gazing adoringly at the new Queen. “Um, can you go call Triss in? I was thinking we could go over your notes and also find out what Vergen has to offer. But if they apprentice with Saskia, they definitely won’t be hiding who they are.”

“I think that would be best for them,” Brigida said, “but they still need to be around other children.”

“We’ll figure that out. Go get Triss.” Roche knelt next to the children again. “How are you two feeling? I know a lot has happened over the past few days and it’s probably pretty overwhelming. Is there anything you need?”

Boussy shrugged again, but Anais poked him and he finally said, “more toys? I don’t have enough gears to make a dragon!”

“Hmm, can I borrow one of your gears to make it happen? Finch carves to keep his hands busy – I’m sure he could carve something that will work for you,” Roche smiled. What was it about these children that so endeared him? They’d been through so much, but they still chose to trust him to keep them safe. They even called him _family._

“Okay,” Boussy said. “Can I learn how to do that?”

“Oh, uh – yeah, I don’t see why not? But first we need to have a conversation about your lessons, okay?” 

Boussy pouted, but then Brigida opened the door, and Triss and Geralt entered behind her. 

Saskia looked up. “Would you like me to give you privacy? I’m happy to move out on deck.”

“Actually,” Roche said, “I have a few questions about Vergen, if you don’t mind. I need to be certain we can keep the children safe.”

“May Iorveth join us?” Saskia asked, “in the aftermath of the battle, I know he has looked into the state of our security.”

“Sure,” Roche said, before even realizing _why_ she was asking.

“Vernon!” Brigida hissed. She turned to Saskia, “with all due respect, your highness, Iorveth is a wanted criminal. I would prefer not to have him near the children.”

Roche blinked, taken aback. “He won’t hurt the children! He already helped protect them in Loc Muinne.”

“I understand your concern, Brigida,” Saskia said, “Iorveth has a great deal of blood on his hands. However, if I’m to create a truly free Pontar Valley where humans, dwarves, elves, and all others can live alongside each other equally, then there will be many people with a great deal of blood on their hands. Present company included.”

Roche inclined his head, accepting that. It was certainly true that many people would look at his record and never want him near a child. And true, both he and Iorveth had the blood of innocents on their hands – the blood of children, even. But that didn’t mean they _wanted_ to be monsters, and Iorveth had no reason to want to harm the children. And he’d _met_ them. It was always harder to kill someone when they stopped being a stranger, because you started developing _feelings_ and _opinions_ about them. Iorveth had watched Roche with the children with a surprisingly soft expression – not only did Roche trust that Iorveth wouldn’t harm them, but he’d even bet that Iorveth would fight to protect them.

Of course, Brigida had no basis for that trust. To her, Iorveth was a terrorist that Roche had randomly chosen to be soft on.

“I believe that the future of my kingdom lies in forgiveness – but Iorveth and others like them will still have to earn that forgiveness, earn the trust and respect of the people. I cannot do that for them, nor would I choose to. However, I can guarantee that Iorveth will not harm these children. If there is an oath you would accept, I would gladly give it,” Saskia met Brigida’s gaze evenly. “On my life, I will never intentionally put Anais or Boussy in harm’s way.”

Brigida licked her lips and Roche felt like the entire room was holding their breath – all except Saskia, who stood calmly, an oasis in a mess of chaos. 

“I will watch him. If he tries something–”

“Then I will kill him,” Roche said. And it was true – if Iorveth ever intentionally harmed the children, he wouldn’t be the person Roche was interested in seeing what they could be with.

“Okay,” Brigida said. “I’ll go get him.” She turned on her heel and walked out onto the deck again.

Triss tilted her head, staring at Roche. “You really trust him, don’t you?”

“What? No!” Well, not exactly. “It’s more...I know what he’s fighting for. As long as we aren’t opposing that,” he shrugged, turning to the children. Anais was watching them all with narrowed eyes, clearly having followed their conversation. “I promise, there’s nothing to be scared of. Iorveth may look scary, but so did I at first, yeah? Even your father looked scary sometimes, didn’t he? But that didn’t mean he would ever hurt you.”

Anais frowned, “Papa says elves are always dangerous. That if you give them a chance, they’ll kill you.”

“Well, that’s not very fair, is it? If you don’t give someone a chance, how can you find out what there intentions are?” Saskia asked.

“But if they’re bad, then you’ll just get hurt!”

“That’s always a risk,” Roche said. “But that’s why you learn to see what it looks like when someone is about to harm you. If someone reaches for their weapon, it doesn’t matter what their ears look like.” 

“I like the ears,” Boussy said. 

“Thank you,” Iorveth said from behind Roche, and he startled. He’d half-heard the sound of the door opening again, but it hadn’t really registered. “Ears are very personal things to elves, though, so you may not want to comment on a stranger’s ears.”

“Oh,” Boussy frowned. “Sorry?”

“Forgiven. You did not know,” Iorveth said easily. “You asked for me, Dragonslayer?”

“Yes,” Saskia said, waving him over. “Commander Roche has some questions about Vergen’s security. I thought you might have more updated information than I do.”

Iorveth nodded, sitting on the other side of Saskia, giving the children a decent amount of space. Even so, Anais definitely shied away and Roche could see the way Iorveth’s jaw clenched, making something in his chest twinge.

“I – uh, I wanted to talk about what Vergen will be like for Anais and Boussy,” Roche began. “They need the chance to be around other children, and to continue their lessons, but we also need to keep them safe.”

“Vergen has community schools,” Saskia said, “but most of the humans in Vergen don’t currently send their children to learn with the dwarves and elves in the schools. I would like to change that, to see all of us coexisting equally, but it will not happen tomorrow. Change takes time.”

“Is there somewhere the human children gather?” Brigida asked, just as Roche said, “what subjects are taught at these schools?”

“Each school is different, depending on the community it’s in. However, I would like to make reading, writing, and arithmetic standard for all students in the Free Pontar Valley. Other subjects would depend on what the child is expected to do in life – after all, a farmer has need to know the soil and plants, while a miner might only be concerned with the stones. For Anais and Boussy, I would imagine they need lessons in several subjects, in addition to the practical experience they will get – if they accept, of course.”

Roche nodded. “I’d like to add some self-defense lessons to their days as well.”

“I wanna fight!” Anais jumped up eagerly.

“I don’t,” Boussy yawned, clicking another set of gears together. Roche couldn’t tell what shape Boussy was going for yet, but he was impressed by how many seemed to be possible.

“Also, you said you wanted to talk to us, but you’re just talking to each other about boring stuff,” Anais crossed her arms. “Can we learn fighting _now_ instead?”

Roche opened his mouth, unsure of how to respond. “You don’t wanna know what your schooling is gonna be like?”

Boussy huffed, a quick, “ha!”

“Why does it matter? Everything changes every week,” Anais shrugged. “Saskia says she’ll teach us cool stuff. What else do we need to know?”

“Fair enough,” Triss said, clear amusement audible in her voice. 

“Okay,” Roche bit his lip, “are there other things you’d like to learn? Other ‘cool’ stuff that you want?”

“Like what?” Anais asked suspiciously. 

“Well,” he drew the word out, oddly nervous. “Considering we’re going to a nonhuman-majority city, maybe it would be good to learn Elder?”

Iorveth’s intake of breath was quiet, but somehow it was all he could hear above his heartbeat pounding in his ears. 

“Oh! That finger language Rinn used!” Boussy said, “I wanna learn that!”

That reminded Roche, he still needed to talk to Rinn about knowing the Blue Stripes’ language. But maybe it would be valuable to teach it to the children, too.

“She knows two finger languages,” Roche said. “I can teach you one of them, but you’ll have to ask her if she can teach you the other one.”

“Ah,” Iorveth coughed. “Rinn.”

Appearing _literally_ from nowhere, the young elven woman crouched near the bed and waved at him. Brigida gasped violently and Triss immediately slid into a battle stance.

“Seriously, how do you do that!?” Roche yelped.

“I wondered when you would come out,” Saskia said, entirely calm, and Triss slowly lowered her hands, around which fire crackled. 

Rinn’s hands moved through signs and Iorveth translated for her in an exasperated voice, “sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I wanted to make sure Anais and Boussy were safe.”

“Rinn!” Boussy cheered, rolling to his feet and shuffling towards her. 

Rinn smiled at him, patting his head. Anais waved excitedly.

“Rinn saved Anais and Boussy when we were attacked in Loc Muinne,” Roche explained. 

“And apparently she appears from thin air where she shouldn’t be,” Triss said, unimpressed.

Rinn just shrugged. “I would love to teach you my language,” Iorveth translated for her, then cleared his throat and spoke for himself. “And I would be honored to teach you Elder.” Iorveth’s eyes flicked to Roche’s just for a moment and his breath caught, pulse suddenly racing.

Anais shrugged, “I mean, that sounds cool, but I wanna go outsiiiiiiiide.”

Roche laughed, “let’s go out on deck, then. We can get you started with some fighting moves, work off some of that energy. Boussy, do you want to come out and talk to Finch? Or would you like to stay and play with your gears?”

Boussy pursed his lips, debating with himself. 

“Rinn’s gonna come outside with me, right, Rinn?” Anais said slyly. Well, sly for an eight year old. 

“Outside!” Boussy immediately agreed, “let’s go!”

In ones and twos, they filed out of the Captain’s cabin, back out onto the crowded deck. As Anais started running around, pointing at everything and asking what it was while Brigida scrambled to respond, Roche directed Boussy over to Finch, sitting with his back against the side of the ship and steadily peeling curls of wood from the chunk in his hand.

“All good, Bossman?” Finch asked as they drew close.

“Got a request, actually. Boussy needs more pieces in his toy set, and I was hoping you could carve them.” Roche held out one of the wooden gears. “Plus, Boussy was curious about carving.”

“Yeah?” Finch asked, gnarled features curving into a soft smile. He took the gear from Roche and looked it over. “Yeah, I think I can make this. You wanna watch?”

Boussy nodded eagerly, and Roche pat his head with a smile. “I’m going to go make sure your sister doesn’t bowl anyone over. If you need me, just shout.”

Boussy hummed, already intently watching Finch’s fingers as they absentmindedly chipped away at the wood. 

He found Anais on the upper deck next to the helm, with several sailors, commandos, and an elf attentively listening as she described how _she_ thought ships worked. Roche bit his lip against a grin and waited until she finished a sentence involving sails and demigods somehow controlling the tide to clear his throat.

“Did you still want to learn to fight, Anais?”

“Oooh, yes!” she turned to him eagerly, dismissing the sailors and commandos as naturally as if she were already Queen. 

“Let’s go to the bow of the ship so we aren’t in the crew’s way, hmm?” The Captain gave him an amused look as several sailors cleared their throats and got back to work. Anais skipped along beside him, apparently not at all struggling to find her sea legs. “Have you learned anything about fighting before?”

“I can kick really hard!” Anais announced proudly.

Roche laughed, “great. Why don’t you show me and I’ll see if we can’t make it even stronger, hmm?”

Her form wasn’t bad, actually, for someone who had never actually fought before. He talked her through a few changes, explaining why as he went, “the power in your hit should come from the movement your hips, not just your strength alone.”

While Anais’s fist slowly gained more power as she practiced twisting and punching, Boussy piped up, “why was that place in ruins, anyway?”

“Loc Muinne?” Brigida responded, “it was destroyed by Marshal Raupenneck of Redania, I think?”

“Why?”

“Well–”

“Because elves lived there,” Iorveth said clearly. 

“That’s not–” Shorty started, but Iorveth’s glare was more effective than Roche’s usually was, and Shorty actually fell quiet.

“The elves had done nothing to Raupenneck or to Redania. Nonetheless, Raupenneck slew every man, woman, and child, not even giving them the chance to fight back.”

“Why?” Boussy frowned, “why would he do that?”

“It’s complicated,” Roche jumped in. “That’s not to say that it was okay – a lot of innocent people died. A lot of innocent _elves_ died,” he specified, meeting Iorveth’s gaze briefly. “Redania – and the other Northern Kingdoms – declared war on nonhumans, for the crime of – well, of not being human.” Ves and a few of his men shifted uncomfortably at that, in disagreement perhaps, but Roche had been the one to receive Foltest’s orders. He knew, even if he didn’t like to think about it. “Some nonhumans are criminals – just as some humans are. But the real reason they destroyed Loc Muinne?” He knelt down to meet Anais’s eyes, since Boussy wasn’t a fan of eye contact. “For power. King Radovid IV of Redania wanted to expand his borders and show his power. He was a young King, compared to most of the Northern Kings. Slaughtering Loc Muinne made everyone acknowledge him and take him seriously as a threat.” Not unlike the current King Radovid's plans. Were all Radovids bloodthirsty and insane?

Possibly.

Anais frowned, “but what about all the people? If they did nothing–”

Roche bit his lip. How did you explain that many leaders didn’t care about collateral damage?

“They were elves,” Iorveth repeated. “In many people’s eyes, that made their deaths acceptable. More than that, really. Many people applauded the action – and meanwhile, no elves were allowed inside to lay their brethren to rest.”

Again, there was shifting across the deck. Roche couldn’t blame them – for a long time, he’d thought of Raupenneck’s actions as overly cruel, but necessary. Things happened in war, and sometimes commanders had to make ugly decisions.

But Iorveth was right. The elves had done _nothing,_ and why had that never entered into his calculations before? 

“But _why?”_ Boussy asked. 

Rinn tapped him on the shoulder and then pointed at her ears, signing something. 

Iorveth translated, “because we’re different. And different is scary to people, so sometimes it’s easier to just say anything different is bad. And once you do that, you can excuse anything you do, because you’re doing it to _bad people_.”

“You make it sound like all elves are innocent,” Ves interrupted, “as if our present company doesn’t have blood on their hands!”

Anais blinked and looked up at Iorveth, drawing back slightly. Iorveth glared at Ves.

“We have blood on our hands too, Ves,” Roche said. “The fact is, we’ve all done bad things, and we had reasons for doing them, but we still did them. That’s important,” he directed at Anais, “everyone does what they do for a reason. Understand that reason, and you might understand how to stop it.”

Anais tilted her head. “Did the bad man who hurt Papa have a reason?”

“Uh…”

“He did,” Geralt spoke up. “He was working for Nilfgaard and wanted to sow chaos in the North.” Anais’s forehead crinkled and Geralt continued, “it’s not always a good reason. A lot of times, the reason people give is that they had their orders.” Roche winced – he certainly used that an awful lot, didn’t he? “And sometimes, you’re stuck in a position where there is no good choice. But the fact is, all of us choose our actions, even if it feels like there’s no choice. Sometimes there’s no _good_ choice – like for you two. I bet this whole week has felt like a lot of situations where you have no choice, right?” Anais nodded emphatically. “And in a way, it’s true – if your choice is to stay with your captors or go with your rescuers, it’s not much of a choice, is it? But it is still a choice you made. Does that make sense?”

“I guess?” Anais said.

Boussy frowned, “but what if someone does something bad, but had a good reason?”

“That happens a lot,” Roche grimaced. “All you can do is decide for yourself – was the reason good enough to justify their actions? And if _not,_ what do you want to do about it?”

“What do you mean?”

He licked his lips, trying to organize his thoughts in the most kid-friendly way possible. “As royal children, you and Boussy actually have a lot of power – even though I imagine it hasn’t felt like it lately. But as we settle into life in Vergen and if you work with Saskia, the decisions you make will affect a lot of people. You will have your reasons for making decisions, but sometimes, people still get hurt. You have to decide if the cost is worth it. But part of ruling is also meting out punishment to those who break the rules. If someone does something bad and you think their reasons were right and just? You might choose to pardon them. But if you don’t agree with their reasons, you may choose to punish them. Understand?”

Boussy’s face was scrunched up, but Anais tilted her head thoughtfully. “Like how Mama and Papa argued because Mama pardoned someone Papa didn’t want to?”

Roche raised his eyebrows. Anais was talking about Arthur Tailles, a member of the Order of the Flaming Rose. Because the Order swore allegiance to Radovid, King Foltest had arrested Tailles for treason and sentenced him to death.

Which should have been the last of him, but Baroness Louisa La Valette pardoned him, and he was probably one of the people that drove the La Valettes to rebel against Foltest’s rule in the first place.

“Yes, like that. Not everyone will agree with your decisions, and sometimes there are consequences you can’t foresee. But that’s one reason it’s important to be consistent – if people know what your values are, what behavior is unforgivable, then _their_ reasoning may change.”

“I think I get it?” Anais said.

“I don’t,” Boussy pouted. “I thought we were talking about elves?”

Roche’s lips pulled into a half-smile. “Maybe let’s take it out of the theoretical. Do you believe that killing someone is wrong?”

“Yes?” Boussy expression asked if it was a trick question.

“Do you think that someone’s reasons for killing another might make it the right thing to do? Or at least, an understandable thing?”

“Uh…”

“For example,” Roche took a deep breath, “in order to rescue you, we killed Dethmold. We took someone’s life. Our _reasoning_ for doing so was that 1) Dethmold was imprisoning you two, and 2) the only way we knew how to remove the barrier locking you in was with Dethmold’s death.” He looked between the children, “do you understand that reasoning?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you think that reason justifies taking someone’s life?”

“But the worm-looking man was bad!”

Roche pursed his lips. Maybe this wasn’t the best example, but he didn’t have any other ideas. “According to who?”

Anais and Boussy – and a large number of people on deck – gave him a _look._

“Okay, yes, I think everyone here would agree that Dethmold was a creep and the world is better off without him. _But,_ something that you think makes a person bad could be different than what _I_ think does. Like, um… okay, like when your Mom and Dad were fighting. To some people, Foltest being with your mother and having you made him a bad person, because he wouldn’t marry her. Er, officially,” he added, remembering that Anais’s definition of marriage seemed to be a bit broad.

“To bring it back to elves,” Iorveth said, voice – well, not really gentle, but it was clear he was trying not to frighten the children and something in Roche’s chest seized. “We believe every person, by merit of being a _person_ , deserves respect and the ability to live in peace. So when someone treats us as less than or denies us that right – such as, by attacking Loc Muinne – we would say their actions are wrong. But to someone who believes that elves _aren’t_ people, the idea of offering basic respect and letting us live in peace may not even occur to them. Or they might say that we deserve what we get, because _some_ of us have done bad things.”

Boussy frowned. “But Papa told us elves are bad. And you’re saying they’re not.”

“I’m saying that, just like humans, elves can be good or bad or anywhere in between. But unlike humans, our entire species is marked as bad. And that’s not fair – no species should be judged based on the actions of individuals,” Iorveth responded.

“But Uncle Roche just said that we get to judge people!”

“Ah, but that’s the difference,” Saskia piped up. “You will judge _people._ Individuals – not their entire species. Let me put it this way – if we traveled somewhere that said everyone with brown hair is bad and wrong, would that be fair?”

“No!” Anais put her hands over her hair. “I’m not bad!”

“No, you’re not,” Saskia smiled, “have you ever met someone with brown hair who _did_ do something wrong and bad?”

“Uhhh…”

“Me,” Roche volunteered himself. “There are plenty of things I’ve done that many would call bad or wrong.”

Saskia inclined her head, “does Commander Roche having done such things mean that _everyone_ with brown hair has done bad things?”

“Nnnnoooo?,” Anais drew out. Boussy still looked like he was waiting for the trick.

“This is complicated. It’s okay if you don’t get it all right now. Do you think you know what Saskia is getting at, though?”

Boussy made a face. “That...that because Uncle Roche did a bad thing, someone could say all brown haired people are bad? But that would be stupid, why would someone do that?”

All four elves covered bitter laughs with coughs. 

“Well, sometimes you don’t know better. That doesn’t make it okay, but remember that reasons for doing things are important? Sometimes people believe things because no one has ever challenged that belief and they’ve never looked at it before and said, ‘wait, this doesn’t add up’. There are a lot of things we’re taught without ever really thinking about it because our teachers believed it and implied it – or the opposite, if they really disagreed with something.”

“Like what?”

“Well,” the one example that came to Roche’s mind was not necessarily one he wanted to talk about on deck with about two dozen eavesdroppers, but needs must. He was not going to do this crouching awkwardly, though, so he plopped himself on the deck in front of Anais. “Did your parents talk to you about consent?”

“I...don’t think so?”

“The basic idea is pretty simple: no means no,” he explained.

“That’s it?”

“That’s it. No means no. But it’s more complicated than it seems. When I was a kid, my friend Luka didn’t understand it, because Luka’s parents didn’t respect their no’s. When they said ‘no, I don’t wanna hug grandma’ or ‘no, I don’t wanna go to see the herbalist’ or ‘no, I don’t wanna do chores’, their parents made them anyway. Their no’s weren’t respected, so they never learned to accept other people’s – like when the neighboring girl Alanna said ‘no, I don’t want to play with you’, Luka ignored it the way they’d accidentally been taught to. So they didn’t understand why Alanna started crying and ran away from them – because they didn’t understand that they’d violated her trust by not respecting her no. Luka didn’t know any better – but that doesn’t make it okay that they accidentally hurt her. Does that make sense?”

“But sometimes you hafta do things even if you wanna say no,” Boussy pointed out.

“That’s true. That’s why understanding the _reason_ is important. For example, maybe the reason Luka said ‘no, I don’t wanna hug grandma’ is because grandma smells funny and it gives them a headache. Or they said no to doing their chores because pulling the bucket from the well is too hard and makes their arms hurt all day. Or,” he chose his words carefully, “they didn’t want to see the herbalist because he looks at them in a way that made them feel gross. But Luka’s parents didn’t ask why, they just ignored Luka’s no’s – and that was wrong. Every time, it was wrong. Luka’s no’s should have been respected and they weren’t – and so Luka’s trust in their parents was hurt, because they experienced things they shouldn’t have while their parents made them. But it also unconsciously taught Luka not to respect no’s. And sometimes it takes a long time to unlearn those unconscious lessons, but the important thing is to try.”

There was a heavy silence over the deck as Anais and Boussy considered that, and Roche could feel several pairs of eyes on him, but he determinedly kept his gaze on Anais. 

“You said Luka didn’t know better. But you told him why Alanna ran away?” Anais asked.

“I did. Well, I took him to my mom who explained it, but eh, I wasn’t a wordy kid,” Roche shrugged. 

Boussy’s eyes went wide. “You have a Mama?”

“Everyone has a Mama, dum dum,” Anais said.

“Nu-uh! Marigold doesn’t have a Mama! And Harriet’s only got Papas!” 

“Yes,” Roche said loudly over their argument, “I have a Mama. Her name’s Eliza and she lives in Vizima. And, don’t call your brother a dum dum.”

Anais just stuck out her tongue and Roche sighed. “Why don’t we go back inside and play for a while?”

“Fiiiiiine.” Anais put her hand next to her mouth as though that would make it harder for them to hear her say to Boussy, “you are a dum dum, though. ‘member, Uncle Roche told us his Mama told him the Lily story!”

“Oh yeah! I liked that story. Can you tell us another?” Boussy looked up at Roche pleadingly.

Roche scratched his neck and shrugged, “sure, but let’s go inside, yeah? It’s getting late.”

Anais did a cartwheel across the deck and skipped over to the Captain’s cabin. Boussy started for the door and then seemed to realize that listening to a story inside would mean he couldn’t watch Finch’s carving anymore.

“I can show you later,” Finch smiled.

“Promise?”

“Absolutely.”

Boussy nodded, satisfied, and turned follow his sister into the Captain’s cabin once more. Roche filed in behind Brigida, trying to remember an appropriate story. If this kept up, he would need to write his mother to ask for her stories.

He wasn’t paying attention to who all joined them in the Captain’s cabin, so he was more than a little surprised to notice that Iorveth had followed Saskia and Geralt had followed Triss, who had apparently followed him. In other words, the cabin was a little crowded, especially considering the Captain had packed the room with more furniture than it was really designed for. 

Roche saw the moment the three of them realized they hadn’t actually been invited in and watched each of them shift their weight uncomfortably, clearly debating if it was more awkward to draw attention to themselves by leaving now. He coughed to cover a laugh and gestured for everyone to sit down, even though this technically wasn’t his room anymore.

But when he glanced at Saskia, she looked just as amused. “So, Commander Roche, what story shall you be telling for us?”

“Uh…” 

There was definitely laughter on Geralt, Triss, _and_ Iorveth’s faces as they turned their attention to him.

“Yes, Vernon, what is our evening story?” Brigida asked, sitting down next to the two children who were cross legged on the bed and looking up at him with excitement.

He coughed. “Uh, okay...you remember Lily?” he asked the kids, “our ordinary girl who refuses to ever give up? Well, this time, Lily had heard whispers around the neighborhood that a _dragon_ lurked in the area.” Boussy gasped excitedly and Anais rocked forward. Surprisingly, the adults all looked far too interested in what was really just a silly little story. Were dragons sacred to elves or something?

Witchers apparently didn’t kill them, even when they specifically ate Temerian soldiers, so maybe they _were_ sacred. Oops? 

“Well, naturally Lily had to investigate _that._ She didn’t know much about dragons, and this was the best opportunity she’d ever get to fix that! So Lily packed a bag full of things she might need – her Trusty Frying Pan, of course, in case the dragon was violent; Her mom’s famous jerky, in case the dragon was hungry and wanted to eat Lily; a lucky stick, in case the dragon wanted to play; a little mirror to catch the sun and give the dragon something to chase, in case it was restless; her coat, in case the dragon let her ride it and it was cold in the air; and last, but certainly not least, her brand new yoyo, because surely even a dragon would find that fun.

“Ready, Lily now had to _find_ the dragon. She started with the well-known haunts of her own neighborhood, searching high and low for any sign of a dragon. When that yielded little, she ventured out into the wilds of the park, where rock and tree and water met to form the kind of jungle gym only a true adventurer could dream of. Lily stepped lightly, not wanting to alert any lurking dragons to her presence, and searched through the wilds. There was no sign of any dragon in the grassy prairie, nor in the depths of the lake where they said an unseen horror lurked. What about the forests? Lily wondered. A dragon could surely hide amongst the foliage.”

“Like a squirrel,” Anais bobbed her head knowledgeably and Roche blinked at her. 

Iorveth tilted his head, lips pressed together in a way that said, _she’s not wrong._

“Right. Uh, yeah, so she climbed the trees, swinging swiftly from vine to vine like an adventurer pursued by a gang of bandits. Outrunning them meant she explored the whole forest, but still, Lily found nothing to point to a dragon in the area. Finally, just as she was thinking about going home and resuming the search later, she found it: a shiny green dragon scale!” 

This time it was Anais who gasped excitedly, clutching at Boussy’s arm.

“The scale was as big as her palm, a bright effervescent green that shone in the setting sun. Lily had spotted it half-sticking out of the fine sands where the Korath Desert met the forest. A prize like this surely meant she _had_ to explore the desert, even if it was getting late. So she ventured into the desert, digging through the sands and searching for more scales. Eventually, she came upon a wooden tower, standing tall through the dunes. The dragon surely had to be there!

“Carefully, she climbed up the tower, nearly falling once or twice. But finally, she reached the top and finally found it – the dragon!”

Boussy and Anais both let out soft delighted noises, and Roche noticed that everyone was leaning the slightest bit towards him, apparently intent on what happened next. 

He grinned, “the dragon wasn’t at all what she expected. It was small, for one – nearly the same size as Lily. It was curled into a little ball, and when Lily listened closely, she could hear a soft pained whine coming from the dragon.”

“No!” Anais gasped.

“Lily scrambled forward. ‘What happened? Are you hurt?’ The dragon shied away from her, and Lily held out her hands. ‘I’m not gonna hurt you. Are you okay?’. ‘My wing,’ a soft, rumbly voice said. ‘I hurt my wing and I can’t get down and it’s cold and I’m hungry.’ Lily bit her lip, looking at the poor dragon’s injured wing. ‘I’ll bring you home with me,’ she decided. ‘Mom will know how to fix your wing!’

“She pulled out her coat and wrapped it around the dragon, picking him up in her arms. ‘It’s okay,’ Lily said softly as she climbed down the tower. ‘I’m not gonna let anyone hurt you again.’ 

The dragon poked its head out of the bundle of fabric and scales. ‘You are kind,’ the dragon said, ‘thank you. My name is Temé. What’s yours?’ 

“‘I’m Lily,’ she said. ‘After Mom fixes your wing, do you wanna go on an adventure?’ Temé’s lips curled up in a toothy smile. ‘I would like that, Lily. I would like that very much.’

“And so,” Roche said, “Lily brought Temé home with her, and her Mom fixed Temé all up. Lily and Temé went on to go on many adventures – but that is a story for another time. For now, know that Lily and Temé fell asleep that night curled around each other, each excited to have a new friend.”

“Awwww,” Anais grinned up at him, rocking back and forth. “That means you have to tell us more stories about Lily and Temé!”

Roche laughed, “of course, darling. But first, it’s time for all little adventurers to be in bed.”

As Anais and Boussy got up to slide under the covers properly, Brigida smiled softly at him, her eyes misty. “I remember Lily and Temé. Your mom used to tell those stories to the whole neighborhood. My ma was jealous of how inventive she was with them.”

“Shit with names, though,” he chuckled. “She once told me that didn’t intentionally choose them for Temeria – names were just difficult.”

Brigida laughed, and Roche tucked the children into the bed, with a passing thought that he hoped the sheets had been washed since he and Iorveth had used them. With a kiss on the forehead for each child, he turn to leave with Iorveth, Triss, and Geralt.

“Where are you going!?” Anais asked in alarm, jerking upright in the bed.

“To the crew quarters,” Roche shrugged, “to sleep.”

“No! You have to stay here!” The desperation in Anais’s voice had everyone freezing in place, and Roche immediately turned back to her. 

“It’s okay,” he soothed. “Saskia will protect you, you’re safe.”

She shook her head violently, throwing herself forward into his chest. Boussy, who she had flung herself over, bit his lip, but also turned pleading eyes on Roche.

“All right, it’s okay, it’s okay. I’m not gonna leave you – you’re stuck with me now.” He hugged Anais, stroking through her hair soothingly. She still clutched him tight, but with things settled, Geralt, Triss and Iorveth headed down to the crew quarters, though Iorveth granted him a final glance and Triss just laughed in his head. 

Blushing and hating himself for it, Roche cleared his throat. “I can sleep on the floor,” he said to Saskia and Brigida.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Saskia laughed. “Life is hardly worth living if we make ourselves intentionally uncomfortable. It might be a bit of a tight fit, but the bed is quite large. I’m sure we can all make do.”

The new Queen’s casual attitude was _not_ helping his blush and now Brigida was grinning at him in that way that meant she was laughing her ass off on the inside. 

“Right, um, okay. I’ll sleep on the outside, then.” He patted Anais on the head, “are you ready to get back in bed?” She nodded against him, but did not let go. “What is it, darling? What’s wrong?”

She mumbled something he couldn’t hear. 

“What’s that?”

She pulled her face away from his chest and murmured, “I don’t want to see it again.”

“See wha – oh.” Right. She’d witnessed her father’s murder. That was bound to leave someone with nightmares. “You’re safe here, I promise. And Geralt made sure the man who did it will never hurt anyone again. And I’m not gonna leave you, okay? I’ll be right here, on the end to protect you if need be.”

“Okay,” Anais said quietly and loosened her grip enough for Roche to pull away just enough to shuck his armor. Beside him, Saskia was also pulling off layers of plate and chainmail and seeing the sheer quantity impressed him even more. That shit was _heavy._

Once all of her armor was set aside, Saskia started pulling her gambeson off and Roche suddenly realized he was staring. He pulled his gaze quickly away, feeling his ears burn in embarrassment. 

Brigida slid into the farthest side of the bed, Boussy beside her. Saskia slid in next, leaving room for Anais and Roche on the edge of the bed. Anais held his hand tightly, and he pulled her to his chest, brushing through her hair.

On the other side of Saskia, Boussy began to sing, some senseless melody that seemed to consist entirely of made up words. Whatever it was, it made Anais slowly relax against him, and as she gradually fell asleep, Roche could feel his eyelids growing heavy.

As he drifted off, his last thought was to wonder which of them Iorveth was more jealous of right now: Roche or Saskia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If your curious about Iorveth's answer (both), I wrote a coda for this chapter from Iorveth's POV: [Taut as a Bowstring](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26384959).


	12. Arc 2: Another Day Aboard Ship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our motley crew has just one day left before they reach Vergen. In which cuddle piles, dance parties, broken noses, and vulnerable conversations all manage to happen.

Pounding on the door woke him early the next morning and Roche would have fallen off the bed in surprise if Saskia hadn’t caught his shirt at the last moment. Once he was successfully upright, he pulled the door open to find Ves, with a particularly paranoid look on her face.

“Report, Commander.”

“The elves went below deck several hours ago, but they have not been seen in the crew quarters. In fact, no one has seen them at all.” Ves’s expression clearly asked if it was time to put the ship on full alert and go elf hunting, and also that she really hoped he’d say yes.

“Where have you checked? It’s not overly surprising that the elves might _not_ want to sleep next to a ton of us – some of them kipped out in weird places last time too, remember.” 

“We checked the crow’s nest. Nothing.”

Roche sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “All right, fine, let’s go look. _Without_ putting everyone on edge until we have proof we should be.”

Ves frowned – on anyone else, he’d call it a pout, but Ves had poisoned harpy talons in her knife supply and Roche had survival instincts – but she obligingly waited while he pulled his armor on.

“You hafta go?” Anais asked, lower lip wobbling.

“I do,” Roche said softly, “but I promise I’ll be back as soon as I can. I know it’s early, so if you want to sleep some more, Saskia and Brigida will keep you safe, okay?”

Anais nodded, and though she looked dissatisfied, she was clearly exhausted enough that falling back asleep shouldn’t take much. 

On the other side of Saskia, Boussy and Brigida both snored, neither apparently easily woken. In fairness, Roche wasn’t usually the easiest to wake up either, but his near face-first encounter with the floor had adrenaline pumping through his veins, making him feel awake and alert. 

Not only that, but Saskia’s effortless save reminded him how very much he enjoyed people who were stronger than him. Roche himself was all stocky muscle, and it was often difficult to find partners who could hold him down – or up, in this case – without a problem.

Which meant that when it _did_ happen, when he encountered someone who was already attractive and likeable and _strong_ – well, Roche’s blood was rushing from more than just adrenaline, and he quickly donned his chaperone so that no one would see the way his ears and neck had turned red.

He would _swear_ that Saskia winked at him just before he turned away, but then again, the mind could play all sorts of tricks on oneself. After all, the likelihood of someone like _that_ taking a second glance at _him?_

Shaking his head to beat his thoughts into order, Roche squinted into the pre-dawn light as he emerged out on deck. Except he didn’t get very far before running into Fenn and Finch, neither of whom were typically morning people.

He sent a _look_ at Ves, “I did say _without_ raising an alarm, didn’t I?”

“How do you think I found out that no one had seen them?” Ves matched his look with one of her own. 

“Was keeping an eye out,” Finch said, “on guard so’s others could sleep. But the elves never showed up.”

“All right, let’s _all_ go looking, then,” Roche sighed.

“You’re not taking this very serious,” Fenn grumbled.

“It’s ass o’clock in the morning, and what exactly do think is going to happen? We more than outnumber the elves, but more importantly, we’re technically on the _same side_ right now, remember? The future of Temeria, groomed into leadership while behind the nice _safe_ walls of Vergen.”

“Saskia’s all right,” Finch hummed, “but working with elves, Bossman? Really?”

“Elves are treacherous – maybe right now we outnumber them, but we’re about to go into a town _full_ of nonhumans. What then? Think they’ll care that we’re ‘on the same side’?” Fenn curled two fingers of each hand in air quotes.

Roche frowned as they walked below deck. “Are the quotes because you don’t believe they’ll stick to a truce or because _you_ don’t want to?”

“Of course we don’t want to!” Ves hissed. “They’re Scoia’tael! It’s only a matter of time before they stab us in the back.”

Roche opened his mouth to answer when they heard a sound come from the infirmary, and an idea started to form in his mind. “Is Pillow Tits missing too, by any chance?”

“Yeah, actually, but you know how he is–”

“I do,” Roche said and swung the door open to see Pillow Tits sleeping on the floor with four elves piled on top of him. “Yes, they’re clearly just waiting to attack,” he chuckled, noting the way Pillow Tits’ posture was entirely at ease, even as he woke up at their entry and grunted. Elves were rather light, as Roche recalled, and Pillow Tits was used to much heavier and broader humans cuddling over him – the elves were probably a relief, honestly. 

And it – well, it looked _adorable._ He never thought he’d say that about the Scoia’tael, but the way Iorveth’s elves curled around him and each other couldn’t really be called anything else.

Fenn gasped, scandalized. “They stole our Pillow!!”

“He looks pretty happy, actually,” Roche pressed his lips together to keep from laughing. 

“I am,” Pillow Tits said. “Elves are much cooler than humans. It’s nice.”

Roche hummed, remembering how nice Iorveth had felt spread out on top of him. 

“Sir!” Ves growled, gesturing angrily at the elven puppy pile. 

“What?” he crossed his arms, “what threat do you think they pose right now?”

“They’re _elves!”_

“So?” Roche shook his head in disappointment. “Well, Scoia'tael and Pillow Tits accounted for. Were there any other concerns, or can I go back to bed now?”

As Ves, Fenn, and Finch sputtered, Roche pulled the infirmary door closed again. “Sorry to wake you, PT. See you at a more reasonable hour.”

“G’night, Boss,” Pillow Tits called.

Roche yawned, imaging the nice warm bed awaiting him. Should he feel guilty for returning there instead of going to the crew quarters? Possibly, but neither Brigida nor Saskia seemed to mind sharing the bed with him, and he’d promised Anais, after all.

It turned out, kids slept a lot. Logically, Roche had known that, but by midmorning, even he had to admit that it was time to get up. Saskia had already started her day, somehow climbing out without ever disturbing him, and Roche was starting to feel overindulgent for staying in bed.

So, with a big yawn, he pulled himself out of the comfortable bed and went to go face the bizarre world his reality had become. Brigida was sitting at the table in the Captain’s cabin, cross-stitching something that probably involved extensive profanity, so he left the kids to her and stepped out on deck.

Finch was the first person he saw – partially because the man was leaning against the railing with his crossbow raised, apparently shooting down passing birds. Standing next to him, Ves was attempting to compete with throwing knives and really, what had the birds done to them? But, if it kept them entertained, he supposed it was fine – as long as the weapons stayed aimed at birds and not elves.

Over the waves and the wind and the flap of the sails, a lilting melody reached his ears, and Roche followed it, finding Iorveth leaning next to the helm and absentmindedly playing his flute. Geralt and Triss sat near him, hands cupped together around a shimmering magic orb.

Roche’s brow knit. “What are you doing?” When he looked down at the orb in their hands, he could almost make out shadows that looked like people moving.

“Scrying,” Triss said. “Well, trying to. I don’t have a megascope, so I can’t contact any of the other sorceresses, but considering Radovid seemed determined to start a witch hunt, I want to see what’s happening to people. But I don’t think my magic is strong enough – all I can see is Nilfgaard marching to war.”

“To Temeria?” he asked fearfully.

She grimaced, “unfortunately, yes. Their whole force has crossed the Yaruga and is making their way through Sodden, but that’s all I can tell. I can’t even get a sense of who is leading them – it’s like my magic slides off them. It’s–” Triss gave a frustrated grunt and the orb’s surface shimmered, fracturing. “It’s very irritating.” She released the magic and let the orb evaporate into the air, and turned to Roche. “How is it going with the children?”

“Good, I think,” Roche shrugged. “From what little I know about children, they seem to be coping remarkably well. But then, their sense of permanence has definitely been effected. I don’t think they really believe we’ll be in Vergen for long – not when they’ve not stayed anywhere for long lately.”

Triss nodded, “it will probably just take time. They may not have really had a chance to process all of it yet.”

“Anais has nightmares about the assassination,” he said quietly. “She’s scared to sleep unless I’m there – and that’s fine for now, but what happens when I can’t be there?” Roche dragged a hand down his face. “Is there anything your healing magic can do?”

Triss hummed thoughtfully. “There are herbs that help induce a dreamless sleep, but it’s only a temporary solution. Once we’re set up in Vergen, I can brew you a tonic for her.”

“Maybe a harpy will steal her nightmare,” Geralt rumbled. “There are nests outside of Vergen. I destroyed them, but the damn monsters are stubborn. Sure it won’t be long until they settle again and start stealing dreams.”

“Hmm,” Roche grunted, and they fell silent, listening to Iorveth play over the sound of the waves. “You planning on becoming Saskia’s advisor, then?” he finally asked Triss.

“I think so. I – well, I don’t really know how to do anything else. And the children will be there and – when I first heard about the peasant girl who had slayed a dragon and rallied the peasants of Aedirn, I never expected _her.”_

“Yeah, she’s kind of unreal. I think Brigida already plans to propose marriage,” he grinned. 

Geralt tilted his head. “Are you not taken in by our erstwhile leader, then?”

“Oh, it’s not that,” Roche dismissed, hoping he wasn’t blushing. He was, in fact, rather taken with their new leader – but that was nothing more than simple admiration. Really. “She’s going to be a _very_ different kind of ruler than Foltest was.”

“Good,” Iorveth grunted from above them, and started a new melody.

“They are going to accept the apprenticeship, aren’t they?” Triss clarified.

He shrugged. “It’s up to them, but it’d be hard _not_ to. Opportunities like this _never_ happen.”

“Good. And Geralt has agreed to stick around for a little while, at least,” she smiled softly at the Witcher and Geralt noticeably blushed and stammered. 

“I – I don’t know how long I can stay off the Path. But I,” Geralt cleared his throat, “I want to build this new life with you.”

“Awww,” Triss cooed, and Roche had to admit, he was swooning a little and that hadn’t even been directed at him. Maybe Geralt was better at this romantic thing than he’d thought.

“Dammit, Iorveth, you’re making me wish I’d brought my harp,” Taredd complained, approaching their hodgepodge group. 

“Ugh, thank fuck you didn’t,” Sylvar, still wearing the same red face mask that Roche was pretty sure he’d never seen the elf without. “You should like a dying wyvern on that thing. Now Ky’s fiddle – that we could use right now.”

“That just makes me want to dance,” Taredd shrugged and tapped his feet. “Can you play something more swingy, Iorveth?”

Iorveth snorted and rolled his eyes, but when he brought the flute to his mouth again, the tune that emerged was bouncier than the previous ones and Taredd started bouncing on his feet in tune with it. 

“Yes, perfect.” Taredd’s grin was a little bit blinding. Rinn appeared from nowhere and grabbed Sylvar’s hand, forcing him into a basic lindy hop. Her own smile was wide and free as the red-masked elf lifted her into the air whenever Iorveth’s notes turned higher.

There was something weird about seeing elves bob and dance to the music, as normally as anyone else would. Even Roche’s own leg was moving to the beat.

He’d always thought of elven music as being long, beautiful arias, full of grief and sorrow. But this, this was just a fun little ditty that Iorveth was clearly making up on the spot, and even Geralt was moving his head along with the song now.

“Oh, is it dance party time?” Thirteen sounded absolutely thrilled as he jogged up to them. “C’mon, Boss, we gotta show these Scoia’tael how it’s done!”

Roche looked at where Sylvar was dipping Rinn with perfect precision before spinning her over his shoulders.

Yeah, Roche was not gonna compete with that. “You know who would love that challenge? Ves.”

And it was true – Ves _loved_ dancing, though she hated to admit it. She was the lead, of course – anyone who tried to ask her to follow was more likely to get a knife to the throat than anything else. 

Plus, if it was blowing _his_ mind that elves could just dance as casually as any human, Ves could probably stand to see it. 

Thirteen lit up. “Yes! I’ll tell Fenn to start calculating the odds,” he said quickly before running below deck to grab Ves.

“No, wait–” Roche groaned. “That is not what I meant by challenge.”

Triss laughed. “It’s like you don’t know your own men. Of _course_ they’re gonna bet on a dance off.”

Thirteen returned, dragging the entire squad with him. “Ooooooh,” Silas clapped his hands together, “are we lindy hopping? I finally learned that over/under flip!”

“This I gotta see to believe,” Shorty laughed, offering a hand to Silas. Silas took it with a grin and spun Shorty around until they were standing facing each other.

Roche sighed, already anticipating this getting out of hand. “Just don’t break each other, please?”

Geralt gave him a weird look. “Come on, Roche, how could they break each other dancing?” he asked, just as Finch bodily threw Fenn in the air and almost fumbled catching him. “Oh.”

Roche’s sigh was heavy and tired, and Triss laughed. “They’re adults, Vernon, they’re responsible for their own wellbeing when it comes to stuff like this. Now come on, I bet we could wipe the floor with all of them.”

Geralt blinked, looking up at her in surprise. “You dance?”

Triss smiled at him so softly, Roche had to turn away. “I’m better with the court dances, but lindy hop is fun. He taught me, actually,” she said, gesturing to Roche. 

Geralt turned to Roche with a raised eyebrow and Roche noticed that Iorveth was watching him too, though his fingers continued to move and the melody never stopped.

Roche shrugged, “my mother taught me. Then we had a mission where the Blue Stripes needed to learn. It was...interesting.”

Snorting, Geralt nodded, “yeah, I bet.”

“So?” Triss asked, wiggling the fingers of her extended hand.

“Yeah, all right,” Roche decided, standing up. He could feel Geralt and Iorveth’s eyes following them as he walked he onto the floor and counted off their start. He led Triss into a triple step and as the music washed over him, he let muscle memory take over and just enjoyed himself. It had been a long time since he’d been able to just relax and dance with his men – though, admittedly, this would never be the context he would’ve expected this to happen in.

Iorveth’s gaze never wavered from him, even as he spun Triss around and directed her into flips. It was heady. Roche had always been the best dancer of the Blue Stripes, having had the most experience, but Iorveth wasn’t watching him for his skill. Or at least, not _just_ his skill.

Roche licked his lips and thought back to that morning, watching Iorveth cuddle up to Pillow Tits’ amble cushion and wishing he could be there beside them, could be one of the people with his arms around Iorveth.

Triss cleared her throat softly. “You’re projecting all over the place. I can practically hear you pining.”

Roche jerked his eyes away from Iorveth’s fingers moving across his instrument and coughed. “Sorry.”

Triss shrugged, “did something happen? Last I heard, you were mostly freaking out over the past. Now you’re...what, planning to pursue something again?”

“Um.” _Already_ pursuing something might be more accurate. He pushed that thought at her, and watched her eyes widen.

“Really? With–?” her eyebrows rose high. “Guess he doesn’t hate you, after all.”

“I...don’t think so?” Roche bit his lip, “can we not talk about this?”

Triss tilted her head, assessing his face with a quick judgemental scan, and Roche just knew that he was blushing. 

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” she shrugged. “Now lift me high.”

He did, bringing her up, then down through his legs, and then up into the air again, finishing the move off by bending down until she could spin over his shoulder.

Triss’s delighted laughter rang over the last notes of the flute and Roche was grinning himself when he rose up straight. He eyes automatically sought out Iorveth’s, and he was taken aback by melancholy look that smoothed away as soon as Iorveth realized he was watching.

“Yeah!” Fenn shouted, and when Roche turned to look, Fenn was standing on Finch’s shoulders for some reason. “Bet you can’t match this, treefuckers,” he said, launching himself backwards into what was apparently supposed to be flip.

Only Fenn had never been the most graceful of Roche’s commandos, and with a wince, he saw the landing coming a few moments before Fenn face-planted directly onto the wooden deck.

“Ooooh,” Triss grimaced, and they separated to make sure Fenn was still alive. 

Roche poked Fenn with his toe. “You all right there, buddy?”

Fenn groaned, but raised a hand in a thumbs up before letting it flop onto the deck next to him.

Sylvar pointed and laughed loudly. “Were we supposed to do that properly, or was that the enviable move you were aiming for?”

“Sylvar!” Taredd hissed, jabbing the other elf with his elbow, but he was also clearly trying to keep the amusement off his own face.

Roche couldn’t really blame him. That had been one of the most spectacular ways he’d ever seen Fenn fucking eat it – and there had been a _lot_ of times he’d seen exactly that.

He shook his head, and called for their medic, looking up to see Pillow Tits dancing with Saskia. When had that happened? He hadn’t noticed them dancing before.

PT tutted, “Fenn, _really._ When will you learn that your face is not indestructible.”

Pillow Tits and Triss pulled Fenn upright. The idiot seemed all right, aside from a clearly broken nose and 3 chipped and missing teeth.

“I can fix your teeth,” Triss offered.

“No neeb,” Fenn groaned as Pillow Tits examined his nose and, without warning, realigned the bones with a _crack._ “Owwwww,” Fenn whined, then reached up and pulled his teeth out. “Al’ fake,” he grinned a gummy smile.

“If you didn’t try shit like this so often, maybe you’d have teeth left,” Roche pointed out.

“Ha!” Fenn snorted, then immediately winced when it jarred his nose. Thankfully, he put his teeth back in to continue their conversation – his fake teeth had always grossed Roche out a little bit. “Why would I want real teeth when these are better?”

“Huh,” Taredd said, staring at Fenn with a look of horrified fascination. “I didn’t actually know humans had dentures.”

“These are great!” Fenn enthused. “Got ‘em charmed so the teeth are easily repairable!” Demonstrating, he grabbed one of the chips where his front teeth had broken, then just pushed it against the broken tooth. With a quiet sizzle of magic, the two pieces fused together, and Fenn’s grin was just as perfect as before – which was to say, still crooked and with canines that were a tad too sharp.

Then Fenn seemed to realize that he was grinning at an elf and quickly scowled. “Still say you couldn’t do that.”

“What, break my face?” Taredd scoffed. “No thanks.” He was quiet for several moments, and then, “I hadn’t realized humans had the same dance. But I admit, some of you weren’t too bad.”

_“Others,_ though,” Sylvar drawled, smiling meanly at Fenn as he leaned his elbow against Taredd’s shoulder. 

Pillow Tits cleared his throat. “Instead of arguing over who danced the best – it was definitely Commander Roche and Miss Merigold, by the way – why don’t you thank your musician?”

Fenn pouted, but the Blue Stripes were used to following PT’s etiquette instructions. Which was why Roche got to see the entirely taken aback look on Iorveth’s face when all of the Blue Stripes turned to him, bowed the slightest amount, and grit out reluctant “thanks” in his direction.

“Good. Now clean up your mess, Fenn,” Roche said, waving at the blood-spotted wood. “You’re on rotation for swabbing the deck anyway.”

“But Booooooossss,” Fenn whined, “I’m _injured.”_

“You make a mess, you clean it up.” Roche crossed his arms, immune to Fenn’s whining by now.

Well, mostly immune.

“Get to work,” he ordered, and Fenn sighed piteously, trudging away to get a bucket and mop. 

The Blue Stripes and Scoia’tael slowly dispersed, and there was something odd about watching the way the elves effortlessly slipped between his commandos, almost blending in. Like they were meant to be there.

Shaking his head to push away such odd thoughts, Roche almost missed the way Iorveth slipped away as well. Without really thinking about it, he followed Iorveth, continuing down the stairs below deck and slipping into the brig, hopefully without being noticed. Iorveth was leaning against the hull, head tilted down and hands balled into fists at his sides.

Roche frowned, “Iorveth? You okay?”

Iorveth was quiet moments that seemed to stretch on and on as Roche ached to comfort Iorveth with whatever was going on.

“Not really,” Iorveth eventually murmured. 

That had Roche moving forward, giving into the urge to wrap his arms around Iorveth again. Iorveth leaned into him, and the pressure of the elf against him felt like something clicking into place. This was the way it should be. His arms were meant to be around Iorveth, holding the elf close against his chest.

“Is this because of Fenn?” he asked, “I know he called you – uh.” He probably shouldn’t repeat it if it was offensive, should he?

When had he started worrying about these kinds of things? Before, he would have shouted every offensive term he could think of at the Scoia’tael – specifically _because_ they were offensive. Insults were _supposed_ to be offensive.

So why was he now worried that Iorveth was upset over Fenn calling elves “treefuckers”? Why did the urge to punch Fenn’s teeth out rise up in him? It wasn’t like Iorveth would appreciate Roche’s defense, especially since Roche had almost certainly called Iorveth that before. He couldn’t remember for certain, but it was one of his favorite insults. He definitely would’ve used it.

“The sorceress called you Vernon,” Iorveth said out of nowhere.

“What? Wait, you mean Triss?” Roche’s brow furrowed. “When? And – sorry, wait, does this mean you’re _not_ upset about Fenn? Because I’m sorry about him, he shouldn’t have–”

Iorveth huffed, flicking his wrist where it rested on Roche’s shoulder – and when had that happened? 

“I’ve heard worse.”

“Yeah, probably from us,” Roche grimaced. “‘m sorry. Just ‘cause you’re used to it doesn’t make it sting less.”

Iorveth shrugged, “even I’ve used that one, before. It’s fine.”

“Oh...kay. So...what’s wrong then?” he asked, feeling entirely lost.

“Ugh,” Iorveth groaned, shifting so he could bury his face in Roche’s neck. “It’s stupid, it doesn’t matter.”

Roche let his hands stroke up and down Iorveth’s back. “Kinda seems like it matters. And even if not, tell me anyway?”

“That governess, your old friend,” Iorveth began and Roche felt even more lost. How did Brigida factor into this? “She implied that only your lovers call you Vernon.”

“You heard that?” Roche blinked, “wait, _that’s_ what she was trying to say!?”

Huh, that actually sort of made sense, though really, how was he expected to have understood that when all she’d said was ‘exactly’ to his response about – oh.

“Is this about Foltest?” his voice wavered nervously and Roche bit his lip, trying to hide it. Was this going to be the last straw in the list of ways Roche had been complicit in the slaughter of elves? He knew how much Iorveth hated Foltest, could tell from the sheer _disgust_ in Iorveth’s voice when they’d talked about Iorveth’s role in the King’s death here in this very brig mere days ago.

Was that same disgust now directed at him?

“Yes. No. I don’t know.” Iorveth’s hands were fisted in the back of his armor, clutching almost desperately at him and that didn’t really seem like disgust to Roche.

But if Iorveth wasn’t disgusted with him, why bring it up?

“I am...very confused right now,” he managed to say, hoping he wasn’t about to use Iorveth’s solid presence in his arms.

Iorveth groaned, still hiding his face in the crook of Roche’s neck. “I told you it was stupid.”

“Honestly, I’m unclear on what ‘it’ even is.”

Iorveth drew back and Roche couldn’t help the small sound of loss that escaped him. But Iorveth didn’t go far – didn’t even let go of his armor. Instead, the elf regarded him with an utterly baffled expression. 

“You – seriously? Wow, no wonder she called you dumb.”

“Hey!” Roche protested automatically, but he did, in fact, feel pretty stupid right at the moment. “Just – please tell me what’s wrong?” He tried applying his best pleading eyes, but he had never been known for his ability to persuade people – at least, not without a little violence first.

So he was honestly entirely surprised when Iorveth reluctantly admitted, “I’m – ugh, I’m fucking jealous, okay!?” The elf spat the words out as if they hurt him and all Roche could do was blink.

“What?”

“I’m not saying it again.” Iorveth scowled, his ears bright red.

Roche just stared. Iorveth. Jealous. “Of who?”

Iorveth gave him a disbelieving look. “Who do you think!? The governess, the sorceress, fucking Foltest for fuck’s sake.”

“Yeah, but _why?”_

“It’s not fucking logical! I _know_ it’s stupid, okay? I know–” Iorveth closed his eye and took a deep breath through gritted teeth. “I know. That you’ve – that you.” He huffed again, clearly searching for words. “You chose to come to Vergen. You chose to work with the Scoia’tael. You chose – you’re even trying to be less racist! But I’m – it’s,” Iorveth licked his lips and took another deep breath, then opened his eye to meet Roche’s gaze. “I don’t understand _why.”_

Face scrunched in confusion, Roche tried to work through that. “You’re jealous of people who call me Vernon...because we’re going to Vergen?”

Only, that wasn’t quite what Iorveth had said, was it. Iorveth was jealous. _And_ he knew that Roche had chosen – “oooh,” he breathed, and he had a feeling his expression as he stared up at Iorveth was disgustingly soft. “Iorveth,” he said softly, bringing his hand up to cup Iorveth’s blushing cheek, “why would I choose anyone else?”

“Why _wouldn’t_ you?” Iorveth countered, but there wasn’t any fight behind it. Instead, Roche could see the way they were _both_ affected by this conversation, could feel Iorveth’s chest rising and falling rapidly against his own, could watch the way Iorveth’s eye fluttered when Roche stroked his thumb across Iorveth’s cheek.

“You chose me too, you know,” he said softly, “asking me to come with you.”

Iorveth laughed, a rough, harsh noise that sounded scraped from the elf’s throat. “Yeah, ‘cause I’m such a catch.”

Roche frowned. “You are, though? I mean, obviously professionally as the only one who’s ever escaped me, but also–” he shook his head, trying to find the words. “You’re _here._ You, the Scoia’tael’s most effective and ruthless leader, and you’re here with _me_. Even though your people aren’t happy with it. Even though there’s people like Saskia around? I mean, if you were gonna pick a human, don’t think anyone would expect it to be me. _I_ wouldn’t have expected it to be me.”

Iorveth’s immediate, “who else would it be?” had Roche biting his lips against a smile. He rose his eyebrows pointedly and Iorveth shook his head with a huff. “We’re – you’re the only one who’s ever escaped me, too. You are – when I make plans, you are the one I measure them against, Vernon. No one else comes close.”

Roche pressed his lips together, the corners twitching upwards. “Want to know something ridiculous? When the Stripes were called to battle against the La Valettes, all I could think about was how much better you would’ve used their resources and positioned their men.”

Iorveth’s surprise quickly turned into a smirk, “opposites and equals.”

“Yeah,” he breathed. “Now fucking kiss me already.”

Iorveth did not need asked twice and Roche sighed into him, relaxing against Iorveth until they were both leaning on the wall. Their kiss was sweet and yearning and so much softer than anyone would ever expect from either of them, and all the better for it. 

“Can I?” Roche whispered against Iorveth’s lips, fingers tugging lightly on the back of the bandana.

Iorveth’s breath hitched and he didn’t seem to be able to say anything, but he nodded, so Roche carefully untied the bandana, pulling off his chaperone while he was at it. Once that was done, he slid his fingers into Iorveth’s surprisingly soft hair and pulled their mouths together again.

Iorveth’s fingers scraped across his chainmail and the elf growled, “your armor is very annoying.”

“So’s yours,” he murmured, diving back in to suck on Iorveth’s lower lip. 

Iorveth made a discontent sound and then came around to tug on his belt, fumbling the buckle open until Iorveth was able to drag the hem of his armor up far enough that a bare palm could sneak up to rest against the small of his back. 

As skin contact went, it was barely anything, but it sent lightning up Roche’s spine and he moaned into Iorveth’s mouth, scrabbling at Iorveth’s armor now. Their mouths continued to suck and bite at each other, and finally Roche had Iorveth’s gambeson bunched around Iorveth’s waist.

“I want,” Iorveth panted, “fuck, I want you inside me again.”

“Yes, fuck, please,” Roche moaned, twisting his fingers in the material of Iorveth’s hose until he could feel it pull taut and then tear.

“Hey!” Iorveth bit Roche’s lower lip sharply. “I could have taken them off.”

“Take too long,” Roche smirked.

Iorveth gave him a narrow-eyed look and then reached out with both hands and tore open the front of Roche’s hose.

He snorted, “unnecessary. My armor covers less than yours does.”

“Too bad,” Iorveth said, and cool, slim fingers wrapped around his cock, turning his response into nothing more than a drawn out moan. “That’s what I thought.”

“Oh, fuck you.”

“That is the idea.” Iorveth released his cock to grab his shoulders, bracing against them until long legs wrapped around his hips. 

Roche made a strangled sound as his cock brushed against Iorveth’s slick folds. His hand automatically came down to support Iorveth, and he slid his fingers around the back of Iorveth’s thigh until he could brush against Iorveth’s cunt.

“Fuck, you’re always so wet for me,” he moaned, grinding his hips forward.

Iorveth whimpered and squirmed as both Roche’s fingers and his cock teased across Iorveth’s cunt without ever actually giving him what he wanted.

“One of these days,” Roche panted, “I’m going to have you naked and in a bed again.”

“Mmm, and what will you do with me then?” Iorveth teased.

“Anything. Everything.” His words were far too honest, but Iorveth just pulled him closer, licking into his mouth.

“Then _fuck me,_ dammit,” Iorveth growled against him.

He reached around to angle his cock properly, and this time when he ground his hips forward, he thrust inside Iorveth and they both moaned. Iorveth shivered, clenching around him, head thumping back against the wall.

“Gods, you’re so fucking _hot,”_ Iorveth sighed, shuddering again. 

Roche whined and pulled back the slightest amount, rolling his hips in short little movements, unwilling to pull out of Iorveth any farther than necessary. Iorveth’s cunt pulsated around him and the elf was so wet that it had to be dripping down to stain both of their hose, and that just made Roche rock against Iorveth harder.

“You’re always so – fuck, you’re so beautiful,” he moaned, recalling the way Iorveth had liked that their first time. “So gorgeous, desperate and unashamed in your pleasure, and all for _me.”_

“Vernon,” Iorveth said, voice breaking halfway through. “Fuck, please.”

“Mmm,” Roche rumbled, nosing up Iorveth’s neck until he could lick a stripe up Iorveth’s left ear. “So good for me, so responsive, so,” he blew cool air across Iorveth’s ear, “sensitive.”

“Please,” Iorveth whined, tilting his head to offer his ear. 

Roche grinned, and purposefully kissed around Iorveth’s ear, never touching where Iorveth actually wanted him to. “You’re so good for me,” he murmured, “so eager and wanton, fuck, just look at you.”

He pulled back far enough to drag a hot gaze from Iorveth’s eye, squeezed tightly shut as small desperate noises escaped lips that were swollen and bruised from Roche’s kisses, down Iorveth’s tattooed neck, flushed and arched in a beautiful curve. Iorveth’s chest heaved rapidly and his shoulders kept jarring with little shivers and shudders as Roche continued to move against him.

“Gods, I want to lay you out and just spend hours finding out what sounds you can make, what pleasure I can ring from you.” Roche sucked on the skin behind Iorveth’s ear and Iorveth’s fingers clutched desperately at his shoulders, pulling him closer and rocking against him as much as possible. “Bet I could make you sing higher than your flute,” he murmured as he finally brought his lips to Iorveth’s ear, nibbling on an earlobe that was more elongated than a human’s, and infinitely more sensitive.

Iorveth’s breath hitched and his hips bucked against Roche’s, one hand sliding up Roche’s neck to tangle in his hair. 

“I don’t – _ah_ – I don’t sing,” Iorveth slurred, pulling him ever closer.

“Careful, or I might take that as a challenge,” he growled, nibbling up the curve of Iorveth’s outer ear. Iorveth made a low sound, body twitching against him. “Or is that what you want, hmm? Want me to take my time, learn everything there is to know about what gives you pleasure? Learn everything that makes you arch so beautifully until I can compose a symphony with your body alone?”

Iorveth’s blunt fingernails dug into his scalp. “I want – gods, _fuck,_ I know it’s stupid, but I keep think- _ing oh fuck yes,_ Vernon!” Iorveth jerked against him, clenching tight around his cock and shuddering in waves.

Roche slowed down until he was just barely rocking into Iorveth, breathless at the sound of his name on Iorveth’s lips. When Iorveth had mostly finished shuddering, though the occasional twitch jarred his limps still, Roche nuzzled behind his ear, murmuring softly.

“What do you keep thinking about?”

Iorveth whined and when he tilted his head, the tears that had welled up in his eye at the sheer overwhelming sensation of it all slid down his cheek. Roche chased them with his mouth, kissing up the side of Iorveth’s face.

Iorveth kept leaning into the slow rocking of Roche’s hips, even though every touch against his clit had him gasping and quivering. 

“Mmmm, you like it when it’s a little too much, don’t you?” Roche gradually pulled a little further out and thrust back in, until more tears dripped down Iorveth’s face and the elf’s breath was coming in tiny little gasps like he couldn’t get enough. “You gorgeous thing, look at you, absolutely undone on my cock.”

Iorveth scratched across his shoulder, tugging at his tunic and chainmail, trying to get at more skin.

Roche laughed softly, feeling utterly entranced by this man who had been at war with the world for so long, and yet _chose_ to let down his defenses with _Roche_ of all people. He kissed across Iorveth’s cheek, capturing Iorveth’s mouth again. 

“You haven’t said,” he whispered between kisses, enjoying the way Iorveth whined every time their lips parted, “what do you keep thinking about?”

Iorveth groaned at the prospect of having to actually form words, tightening his fist in Roche’s hair and pulling him in for a proper kiss.

Roche rumbled against Iorveth, his smile disrupting their kiss – not that that stopped Iorveth – and his words were probably only half-legible, but banter with Iorveth was one of his favorite things. Roche _had_ to respond. “Makes me think you’re trying to avoid the subject. Which means it’s _important._ Tell me?” He pulled out his best pleading eyes again, even though Iorveth’s eye could barely open as the elf gasped with every roll of his lips.

“‘want,” Iorveth slurred, “‘want to have you whenever. Wherever.”

“Yeah?” Roche pressed his smile against Iorveth’s cheek. “I certainly wouldn’t object.”

Iorveth shook his head slightly. “Want – _nngh_ – what,” he gasped, “what Geralt said earlier. Want to try – with you, oh,” Iorveth’s mouth dropped open in ecstasy.

What Geralt had said? About building a new life with Triss? “You – with me? Really?”

Iorveth laughed and sobbed all at once. “Who the fuck else, idiot?”

Warmth suffused Roche’s chest and he felt like it was shining out of his skin. “Yeah, okay,” he whispered, breathless in the face of everything Iorveth offered him. Neither of them were really the kinds of people who expected to live in the futures they were trying to create, but if he could build it with Iorveth? For the first time since Foltest’s death, he felt a spark of hope grow, fueled by the way Iorveth gripped at him and panted against him.

“Vernon,” Iorveth whimpered and Roche shifted so that he could hold Iorveth against the wall with one hand and brought the other up to wrap around Iorveth’s cock. Iorveth bucked against him and curled forward to sink teeth into the curve where his neck met his shoulder.

Roche gasped wildly, and he hadn’t even realized how close he was until he was tumbling over the edge, a hot wave of passion consuming him.

When he next opened his eyes, he was slumped against Iorveth, the wall the only thing holding them up. Iorveth was suckling softly at the skin of Roche’s neck, and the pulsating rhythm of it soothed something deep inside him. He wiped his hand off on the inside of Iorveth’s armor – absently hoping the mess they’d made would be coverable – and brought it up to card through Iorveth’s hair, humming ever so softly. 

Iorveth seemed to relax even further into him, knees splayed open around Roche’s hips. Iorveth didn’t release his shoulder and Roche was more than content to stay pressed together, fingers stroking gently through Iorveth’s hair. He wondered what it would be like if Iorveth grew it out long, the way he’d seen some elves wear their hair. 

A loud tone pierced the air and Roche startled. “Was that a horn?”

Iorveth finally released him, leaving an impressive bruise behind. “I think we’ve arrived,” he said, brushing his thumb wistfully across the marks his teeth had left on Roche’s skin. “We should clean up.”

Roche watched him, swallowing down the surge of emotion that rose within him. Instead, he let Iorveth’s legs touch the ground again and started straightening his clothes. They were both a fucking mess, looking as if they’d done exactly what they did. He could do nothing about their swollen lips or the pink rash of beard burn from Roche’s stubble against Iorveth’s cheeks, but as he pulled his chainmail straight again, covering the bite mark on his neck, he reached out to take Iorveth’s hand, stepping in close to the elf again.

“You’ll know it’s there,” Roche promised, bringing Iorveth’s hand up to the hidden mark. Then he reached out to press against Iorveth’s thigh, right where he knew fingerprint shaped bruises had formed. “Just like I know this is here.”

Iorveth tilted his head forward and kissed Roche, soft and sweet, and Roche melted against him. After several long moments, he pulled back with a choked laugh, “fuck, there’s probably gonna be a whole production for Saskia’s return and I get to walk around with your cum dripping down my leg.”

Roche snorted loudly, “fuck it, it’s my ship right now. Let’s use the sheet on the cot.”

Iorveth wrinkled his nose, and Roche couldn’t resist pressing a kiss to the tip before pulling away to fetch the sheet, tearing it into rags. They cleaned up as well as they could, and by the time they were acceptably presentable – if a little uncomfortable, both with torn hose at the crotch – the ship was slowing noticeably and people were probably starting to wonder where they were. 

“Uh, I’ll go first, then you follow?” Roche suggested. It would be obvious if they emerged on deck at the same time, after all.

“Put on your stupid hat,” Iorveth responded, making a face as he twisted around, messing with the belts and buckles on his armor.

Roche bit his lip against all the conversations he wanted to have. They would have time, time when a number of tense and trigger-happy soldiers weren’t waiting on him. Once they figured out this whole in-a-brand-new-city-with-children thing, they would be able to talk about that life they could maybe build together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're finally gonna get to Vergen next chapter! It was originally planned to be like four chapters ago lmao


	13. Arc 2: Vergen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The crew is introduced to the Dwarven City of Vergen

“All hail Queen Saskia,” Geralt’s friend Zoltan Chivay announced as the huge stone and metal gates opened before them.

Dwarves, elves, and humans were lining the walls that looked down upon the entrance, and a great cheer arose as soon as Saskia had appeared. Roche swallowed, uncomfortably aware that many of those watching were likely displeased that he was so close to their Queen, but he refused to go far from the children and Saskia wanted them beside her.

“If they are to work beside me, they should stand beside me,” the Dragonslayer had said, and what could Roche say to that? Walking beside him, directly behind Saskia in case something should happen, Iorveth’s shoulders were tense and Roche recalled that Iorveth wasn’t exactly any of the locals’ favorite person either. But just as he wouldn’t let the children out of his sight, Iorveth refused to risk Saskia. Especially because apparently the last time Iorveth and Saskia had arrived together, Saskia had been poisoned.

When they finally passed through the gates, four dwarves and Dandelion stood awaiting them. 

“Saskia, are we ever glad to see your safe return!” Dandelion bowed elaborately. 

“What has happened in Vergen in my absence?”

“Repairs after the battle are well underway,” Vergen’s Alderman reported. “There have been some minor disputes, but we’ve mostly managed to maintain order. The people will be very glad to hear from you, though, Saskia.”

Saskia nodded. “I want a report from all council leaders in half an hour. There are updates everyone should be aware of. In the meantime, please have someone show my companions around Vergen and arrange rooms in the Government Quarter.” She turned back to them, “I believe last time you were here, there wasn’t an opportunity to see the city. There are some incredible sights to see – and visitors are notorious for getting lost in Vergen.” With a smile, she walked stepped forward to address the gathered people.

“People of Vergen,” she said, and her voice seemed to ring out loud enough to fill the air. “Our work has been recognized. The Free Pontar Valley is an official realm of the continent!”

For a moment, cheers and whistling drowned out all other sounds in Roche’s ears, but then Saskia held her hand up, and the noise faded away.

“I apologize for leaving so quickly after the battle. I have the utmost trust in all of you – I know that you carried yourselves honorably as I spoke with the Northern Kings.” Roche noticed Iorveth making note of everyone who shifted awkwardly at that – no doubt, the very people who had _not_ acted so honorably. “I believe that together, we can build a realm where all people are equal – peasant or noble, dwarf or human, Aedirnian or Temerian or Scoia’tael. It will not be easy. At times, it may mean asking a lot of both ourselves and each other. But I know that together, we can build a future that we are proud to leave to our children.”

Another roar of cheering deafened Roche, and he was pretty sure he say Iorveth tearing up, but there wasn’t a chance to say anything before Saskia bowed before the crowd and turned back to them.

“I will speak to you later. Anais, Boussy, I hope you enjoy looking around the city.” She smiled and tweaked Anais’s nose, before turning away, several of the dwarves who had met them following behind her.

Zoltan and Dandelion remained and Roche watched with amusement as the bard tried to greet his old friend with a hug. Geralt’s face was bland as Dandelion practically strangled him, and Triss laughed at them, bringing a hand down to clap Zoltan’s shoulder.

“Glad t’see you’re all right, Triss,” the dwarf said, “though a little worse for wear, from the look of it.”

“Let’s just say Nilfgaard’s hospitality leaves something to be desired,” she grimaced.

“Nilfgaard? Wait, I thought Geralt said the Kingslayer took you!” Dandelion had somehow managed to contort himself upside down, hanging off of the Witcher who still looked entirely blasé about it. 

“It’s a long story,” Triss said, “best told over a round of ale.”

“Then I’d best show ye’ where to get one,” Zoltan proclaimed, sweeping his arm out to let them precede him. “Our new Queen has requested a tour for you, after all. An’ she wasn’t kidding about visitors getting lost.”

“Aren’t you a visitor too?”

“Ah, but a dwarf can never be lost underground. Leastwise, not while sober,” Zoltan winked and they pushed their way through the crowd towards the market square just inside the gates. 

“Rhundurin Square is crowded on a good day,” Dandelion intoned as though narrating for them, “but today, with Saskia’s return? Best to save shopping for another day. But if we can get through the square, the Craftsman’s Quarter is beautiful.”

The marketplace truly was busy, so much so that Roche couldn’t even see what vendors were selling at their tables. Were dwarven markets different from human ones? He’d have to find out some time. Finally, they reached the far side of the square where another towering gateway led into the city and Roche could actually hear himself think again.

“So, ye’ planning to stay in Vergen for a while? Or do you want the quick rundown?”

Geralt licked his lips, glancing at Triss with a shy smile. “A while, I think. What about you? Still serving as one of Saskia’s commanders?”

Zoltan nodded, “Aye, think I’ll stick around ‘til my feet itch for the road again. Or this idiot does something stupid enough to get himself banned,” he gestured to Dandelion, who made an offended noise.

Before they could hear whatever Dandelion’s absolute untrue defense was going to be, a stern, motherly voice called, “Iorveth!”

Roche turned to see a short elf with graying hair approaching them, and he blinked. He’d never seen a gray-haired elf before. How old did she have to be to outwardly look it?

“Imadia,” Iorveth greeted and Taredd darted forward to hug the woman.

“Glad to see you’re alive – though judging from that limp, not wholly in one piece. You’re supposed to _rest_ to let an injury heal, you know.”

Pillow Tits made a small approving sound. “That’s what I said!”

Imadia shook her head fondly, “you’ll never learn.” Then she turned to look over the rest of them and her eyebrows rose near her hairline. “The Blue Stripes. Not the first people I’d expect to see in a dwarven city.”

Roche cleared his throat, “not the first place we’d’ve expected to be, either. But Saskia has promised safety for–” Actually, where had the children gone?

“I didn’t know elves could look old,” Boussy’s voice piped up from next to Imadia, and how had he even gotten there that fast?

Anais stood next to him, crossing her arms as if she were too good for his curiosity, but her eyes kept darting over Imadia’s hair and then away.

“Oh!” Imadia gasped, “I see you’ve learned our Rinn’s light steps.”

Boussy beamed.

Roche coughed, drawing their attention back to them. “I’m Vernon Roche, Commander of the Blue Stripes. These are my men, and our charges, Anais and Boussy La Valette.”

Imadia’s eyebrows did not lower in the slightest. “Foltest’s children, if I remember the stories correctly.” 

He couldn’t interpret the look she sent at Iorveth, but Iorveth shifted his shoulders, coloring slightly.

“Well,” she turned back to him, “it’s a pleasure to meet the pretty dh’oine who has made our lives difficult. I am Imadia, a medic for the Scoia’tael.” 

Roche blinked. Dh’oine was one of the only Elder words he knew, because it had been spat at him enough times that he easily remembered it. He’d never heard it in that...he’d almost call her tone salacious? “Pretty...human? Wait, who?”

“Ah. Got all the looks and none of the intelligence, hmm?” Imadia chuckled, and Ves snorted loudly.

“Uh…” Roche cleared his throat, feeling himself blushing. “I believe we were just about to start a tour. Why don’t you join us?”

Again, her eyebrow made a break for her hairline. “It would seem traveling together has had quite an impact on all of you. Good. I’d be delighted to join you. I’m looking forward to seeing what Iorveth thinks of the train.”

Zoltan chucked, “I love seeing first time riders.”

“Train? What’s a train?” There was definitely alarm in Roche’s voice, but neither of their smirks indicated anything good.

Dandelion grinned, a toothy smile that indicated trouble was definitely in their future. “Let’s go find out, shall we? We can begin the tour with the forges – the largest on the continent aside from Mahakam, you know!”

With more than a little trepidation, Roche followed their guides through a wooden door into a dimly lit stone cavern. There were a handful of other groups waiting along the wall next to the door, but the rest of the cavern appeared to be empty.

“Okay, I don’t get it. What’s a train?” he asked, noticing the rest of his team looking around in bafflement. At least he wasn’t the only one lost here.

Dandelion held up a hand, folding long fingers down as he counted, “3...2...1!”

There was a whoosh of hot air that almost knocked Roche over from the unexpected force of it, and suddenly, there was a rectangular stone box hovering in front of them.

“What.”

“Come on,” Dandelion waved the group forward, entering the box through the odd doorway. 

Roche entered to find stone seats lining the inside of the box. He sat down when Geralt did, but his confusion felt, if anything, even more overwhelming than before. “What–”

“Next stop,” a smooth feminine voice rang from nowhere, “Craftsman Quarter, Lower Level 2.”

“Huh, nice enchantment,” Triss said. 

Roche started to say, “I still don’t get–” 

And then his stomach was attempting to crawl up his throat and the whole stone box abruptly _dropped,_ falling through the air. The high pitched screaming he could hear was definitely coming from him, but it was accompanied by several other voices and who even cared if he was screaming because they were going to _die–_

Then the box came to a stop, and the momentum sent him bending forward in his seat. Roche closed his mouth, throat aching slightly, and shakily rose his torso to meet Dandelion’s gaze with wide eyes. 

“What,” he panted, “the absolute FUCK!?”

“Isn’t it great?” Dandelion grinned and Roche was reaching for his knives before rationality caught up with him.

Iorveth’s fingers were white and bloodless, curled around the stone bench he was sitting on across from Roche. “They did _not_ have this the last time I came here.” 

“That,” Anais piped up, “was _awesome!_ Can we go again?”

Thirteen gagged, curling forward so he could tuck his head between his knees and breathe. Pillow Tits stroked his back softly and Roche kind of wished PT could do that for him too, because _what the fuck!?_

“It’s perfectly safe,” Geralt promised, “just a little...fast.”

“What, are ya kidding?” Zoltan laughed, “this one was almost _slow.”_

Roche stared at him with wide, horrified eyes. 

“Arrived: Craftsman Quarter, Lower Level 2. Please check to ensure you take all of your belongings with you,” the magic voice of the train said.

“Ah, we’re getting off here! Come on!” Dandelion cheered. 

It took a few tries to get his legs to obey him and hold him up without shaking, but Roche followed the group as they collectively stumbled off the terrifying contraption. 

“Now,” Dandelion opened the wooden door in the empty cavern open with a flourish, “I present to you, the forges of Vergen!”

The heat was the first thing to hit him and Roche’s mouth dropped open. He had been in a lot of smithies all across the continent, but he’d never seen _anything_ like this. If he’d thought the train cavern was huge, this one was _enormous,_ with high towering ceilings and elaborately carved columns, interspersed with massive stone forges, coals shining brightly in hearths as far out as Roche could see. The clang of metal against metal rang out with an odd sort of rhythm, and dwarves and even a few elves stood in front of their anvils, folding and hammering out red hot bits of metal.

“Whoa,” Boussy gasped.

Zoltan grinned, “these forges are the pride of Vergen. Along with the mines, of course. The merchants far above us on the mountainside may peddle the wares, but _here_ is where they are made and perfected. The craftsman’s guild is the largest one in Vergen, and together with the miners, they’re quite a force to be reckoned with. I know a number of folks’ll be glad for Saskia to re-open the mines now that she’s back.”

“What do they all make?” Anais asked, her head swinging around wildly to try to take it all in.

“All kinds of things,” Zoltan enthused, “they’re split into sections. Over here are the weapon smiths – they’re making spears, knives, axes, that sort of thing. They’ve been pretty busy of late, what with the battle and everything. Down there,” he pointed down the end of the row of forges they stood near, “are the blacksmiths. They’re making the more traditional things you might need – pots and pans, tableware, that sort of thing. But what you really wanna see is over here.” 

Zoltan beckoned them to continue past dozens of rows of smiths, the sheer number of which had Roche’s head spinning. If Temeria’s army had had _this_ kind of operation creating supplies? They’d have taken over the continent

“It’s so _big,”_ Boussy marveled. He and Anais were holding hands and walking in front of Roche, neither looking where they were going. Roche put a hand on their shoulders and steered them out of the way of a column.

“Do I hear running water?” Thirteen asked, tilting his head towards the wall.

“Actually, yes!” Imadia answered. “It’s ingenious, truly! The dwarves have redirected the river that goes through this mountain, and the fresh water flows throughout the city. Look!”

She waved them over to the cavern wall, where a small waist-level stone canal protruded from it. Clear water gurgled as it flowed down the skinny canal, and when Roche followed the line of it, he could see that it appeared to loop the entire room.

Triss hovered her hand over the canal, “I can feel magic.”

Zoltan nodded. “The water is spelled to stay clean and clear. We have to be careful, you know, with the mines, and some of the runoff from the forges, too. It’s all carefully designed so that the water is available to everyone – whether for a quick drink, or to start a soup, or to quench a sword. These canals are all over the city. But here, I bet you kids will love seeing this.”

Zoltan beckoned them over to one line of craftsmen who were standing upright, cheeks puffed out slightly to blow into long metal rods that extended in front of them. The other end of the rods glowed with red hot glass, and Roche watched in amazement as the glassblower closest to them rolled the cooling glass along a metal table, shaping it into a cylinder.

“What is it?” Anais asked, leaning forward against Roche’s hand to get a closer look.

“Looks like a pitcher or a vase to me,” Zoltan shrugged with a grin. “They gotta focus pretty carefully, though, so best not to ask right now.”

“Can I learn to do that?” Boussy asked breathlessly, tugging on Roche’s tunic.

“Uh, maybe?” he shrugged.

Zoltan tilted his head. “You’re about a decade old, right? Would be very young for a dwarf, but for a human, might be just about the time to choose an apprenticeship.”

“Oh! Saskia offered us one of those!” Boussy grinned, bouncing on his toes. “Which sounds cool, but – _this.”_ He waved his hand around, and this was the most animated Roche had ever seen Boussy.

“We’ll talk to Saskia and see what we can set up,” Roche promised, and Boussy beamed at him in a way that made something soft tremble in his chest.

Zoltan and Dandelion both looked astonished. “An apprenticeship with the Dragonslayer? I mean – but what about Temeria?”

Roche grimaced, a sour weight settling in his stomach. “Teremia is lost,” he murmured quietly.

Dandelion immediately opened his mouth to ask more, but Geralt wrapped an arm around his friend’s shoulders, and squeezed, which was apparently enough of a hint to drop it.

“So,” Triss said, cutting through the morose silence that had settled over them, “what’s the next stop on the tour?”

“Ah,” Zoltan smoothly followed her lead, “that would be a level up! The leather and fabric crafts.”

Iorveth and each of the elves perked up in interest. “Dwarves weave?” Taredd asked in surprise.

Zoltan laughed, “well we hafta make our clothing somehow, don’t we? But there are a lot of elves and even some humans who work the craft.”

Iorveth’s fingers twitched, as if aching to create, and Roche wondered if Iorveth knew any of these crafts. Of the Blue Stripes, only Shorty had any experience in the forge, and he freely admitted to being an ameteur. It was enough to repair their weapons and armor when they needed, but from the awestruck look on his face, Roche imagined Shorty might take the chance to deepen his skills while they were here in Vergen.

Assuming Shorty stayed, that is. He hadn’t had a chance to talk with his squad about what came next – their first priority had been the children’s safety, and Lily the Messenger Falcon hadn’t returned with any messages yet, anyway. But they would need to have that conversation soon, and Roche bit his lip against the wave of unease that spread through him.

It would be fine. Even if some of the Stripes decided not to stay, Roche knew they were wily enough to stay alive. 

As long as they didn’t do stupid shit, anyway.

More worried than he’d been before, Roche forced himself to focus on the kids, on Temeria’s future, breathing deeply. It would be fine. Temeria would make it through this, and so would everyone Roche loved within it.

They had to. 

Iorveth knocked into him as the group headed through a wooden door to another of those train caverns, fingers brushing across the back of his hand. There wasn’t time or privacy to talk, but Iorveth’s concern made him smile. It would be okay. 

“Do we have to take the train again?” Thirteen asked meekly.

“Aye,” Zoltan chuckled, “you don’t want to know how many stairs you’d have to take to get down here.”

Thirteen grumbled, “probably still be better than the stupid magic box.”

“It’s not magic, actually,” a dwarf with close cropped hair and a long brown beard said. “Or not exactly. It’s earth magic – the kind of natural magic that anyone can tap, magic potential or no. These caverns are designed with magnets, so that the trains naturally hover between the opposing charges. Then it’s just a matter of determinin’ where to send ‘em!”

“Haggard,” Geralt nodded to the dwarf. “But I thought your workshop was on the surface?”

“Oh, aye, just came down to get rid of some scrap metal. But you ever feel like letting someone look at those swords, you come by my workshop,” the dwarf grinned. 

This time, the train arrived with a blast of cool air, and Roche wasn’t the only one to sigh in relief. The air was probably only cool in comparison to the ambient temperature, but with the forges at their back, it was positively sweltering.

“We use the heat from the forges to warm the rest of the mountain,” Haggard continued to explain. “It’s an elaborate network of ventilation pipes, but even the surface stays decently warm in the winter.”

_“Even_ the surface?” Ves asked, surprise coloring her voice. “Is there more than just the forges and the mines underground, then?”

Zoltan and Haggard both burst into hearty laughter. Dandelion grinned widely, but fortunately chose to explain before Ves decided to _make_ someone.

“Most of Vergen is within the mountain. The surface is mostly – well, mostly the stuff visitors come for. The inn, the market, the council chambers, that kind of stuff. But most of Vergen’s residents live below ground – some of them might go without coming to the surface for years at a time!”

“Well,” Zoltan corrected, “not years, not unless they wanna fuck up their vision. We dwarves can see expertly in low light, but if you don’t go to the surface once in a while, the sun starts to hurt your eyes. Though, that’s not necessarily a bad thing – there’s a whole village deep within the mountain that doesn’t come up to the surface at all!”

Anais and Boussy scrunched their faces up, trying to imagine a life like that, and Pillow Tits hastened to add, “humans need sunlight in a way that dwarves don’t. A human couldn’t live like that for very long – not without dealing with some serious issues.”

Imadia nodded, “elves too. We share the ability to see in low light, but we need forests and trees.”

“Ah, but that is because you came from the trees, yes?” Haggard asked as they all boarded the stone box and Roche tried not to tremble at the prospect of the coming ride.

Imadia cocked an eyebrow, impressed. “I’m surprised you know that – even many Aen Seidhe no longer know our origins.”

Roche ended up sitting across from Iorveth again, and he glanced at the elf’s face, chest seizing at the sorrow on Iorveth’s face as Imadia said that. 

“What do you mean _from_ trees?” Thirteen asked.

“It’s an old story, from before the Conjunction of the Spheres,” Imadia said, “from before humanity arrived on the continent. Only gnomes lived here at first, and the goddesses looked down on the green world and declared that there must be creatures to nurture that greenery. The first elves were carved from the wood of the goddesses’ own tree of life. Ever since, all elves are born with that same connection to nature, to the trees and all green things on this continent. That is why we are able to shape them to our will.”

“Wait, you can do wh- _ahhhhhh,”_ Roche’s question was interrupted by the stupid magic box moving suddenly, straight forward this time, but with enough speed to flatten him against the seat. 

“Always liked that about your stories – carved from the wood from the tree of life,” Haggard said, talking as naturally as if they weren’t moving faster than any creature was ever intended to. “Dwarves were also carved, but we came from deep in the mountains.”

“Where did humans come from?” Anais asked, apparently _also_ unbothered by the fact that their organs had probably been left twelve paces behind them.

“During the Conjunction of the Spheres, humans crossed over from another realm. Initially, they claimed that their world had become uninhabitable because of a volcanic eruption, but it was later revealed that they killed their world themselves, extracting all possible resources from the land,” Iorveth said. His voice was stiff and his fingers still gripped the edge of his seat tightly. At least _someone_ showed a reasonable amount of concern about this whole train thing.

“How do you know what they claimed?” Silas asked. “Humanity’s records don’t go that far back.”

“I was _there,”_ Iorveth shrugged as if his words hadn’t just sent Roche’s brain into a tailspin. The concept of that much time just couldn’t compute. The Conjunction of Spheres had been _twelve hundred_ years ago.

“You ooooooold,” Sylvar mocked, poking Iorveth’s side. 

Imadia laughed, though there was a bitter note to it. “There was a time that was _young,_ actually. You know, I once met the oldest elf to ever live.”

“And?” Iorveth asked, amusement dripping from his tone.

“She was very bad at flirting. But not so bad to not work,” Imadia winked and Iorveth grimaced around a chuckle, even as the younger elves made a face.

“Ugh, old people sex.”

“How old was the oldest elf?” Thirteen asked curiously. Roche pressed his lips together. He really should have anticipated that Thirteen would be eager to consume these stories of elven history. 

“She lived to be 8,340,” Imadia said and Roche boggled. Eight thousand years? That was unfathomably long – the entire _continent_ had changed drastically just in the past 1200 years since humans had arrived and begun expanding across the continent.

Hell, just in the last hundred years, the kingdoms of the North had changed a half dozen times. And Iorveth had lived through all of that?

No wonder he was so desperate to provide a future for his people. Iorveth had literally seen the entire decline of his species. Roche couldn’t even imagine what that must be like. He could hardly deal with the awful things he’d seen in his forty-odd years. To live for thousands?

Roche shivered, chilled to the bone. That sounded awful. If that was what humanity missed out on with their lifespans, then maybe that wasn’t so bad. A hundred years was a lot more reasonable than a thousand.

“Do half-elves live that long too?” He heard himself ask the question as if from a distance, and he could see the tension in Thirteen’s shoulders, see the way Ves’s lip curled in disgust, the way Finch’s nose wrinkled, the way even Sylvar made a face.

Neither humans nor elves typically accepted halfbreeds. What would it be like, to live as long as an elf and forever be an outcast?

“They’re less long-lived than full-blooded elves, but certainly moreso than a human.”

“Oh,” Dandelion said belatedly, “I think we got on the wrong train.”

Geralt pinched the bridge of his nose tightly. “Really, Dandelion?”

“What? I didn’t want to interrupt the conversation! But that’s okay – we can look at the fabric crafts later. I want to commission a new hat, anyway, so I’ll be going back. Anyway, we were just talking about the elven need for nature – why don’t we go to the hydroponics cavern?”

Iorveth perked up, “can we go to the hanging gardens? You’ve never seen them, have you?” He directed his question at Imadia, and the other three – two? Where was Rinn, anyway? How did she always disappear without being seen? – elves blinked in surprise.

“You’ve been here before, Iorveth?”

“Not for hundreds of years. My sister lives in the Mining Quarter,” Iorveth shrugged and Roche gaped.

“None of the stuff we had on you indicated a sister!”

Iorveth’s lips twitched upward. “I haven’t seen her since before the Vrihedd Brigade was formed. Nothing you have on me goes further back than that.”

Roche narrowed his eyes suspiciously, “how do you know that?”

Iorveth just smirked and changed the subject. “You’ll like the hanging gardens,” he said to the other elves, “they were small the last time I was here, but I’ve heard they expanded.”

“Oh yes,” Dandelion jumped in, “the gardens are _huge!_ It’s a poet’s dream come true.”

“You’ll want to get off at this stop and transfer trains, then,” Haggard advised them. 

“Transfer trains?”

“Different ones go up and down than side to side,” Geralt said. “Let’s go.”

“Arrived,” the train chimed at the same time, “Agricultural Quarter, Lower Level.”

Their group filed out of the box and Zoltan guided them to the right place – or Roche hoped that’s what was happening, anyway. He was just trying to keep a hold of each child and following Triss’s red hair, but he assumed Triss was following Zoltan.

They ended up in another damn train box, and this one was just as fast as the others, but it was moving upwards this time and Roche felt a little like his head was going to burst. The journey up didn’t seem as long as the journey down had been, fortunately, and when they left the train and emerged from the station, they were greeted with blessed daylight.

“This way,” Iorveth murmured and took over the lead from Zoltan. The younger elves bounced excitedly, and now that Imadia had mentioned elves needing sunlight too, Roche noticed that where Iorveth had looked slightly _too_ pale underground, he now looked tanned and healthy. _Like a flower flourishing in the sun,_ Roche thought to himself. 

Iorveth rushed ahead to hold the door open for the group, avidly watching Taredd and Sylvar’s faces. They gasped in appreciation, and Roche heard the Blue Stripes make low sounds of awe, but he couldn’t seem to pull his eyes away from the delight on Iorveth’s face.

Anais tugged on his tunic, “lift me up?” she asked, and Roche broke his gaze, automatically reaching down to pull her into his arms before he’d even registered what she wanted to be closer to.

The hanging gardens were quite literal – carved into the mountainside and lined in glass, the nonhumans had somehow managed to grow more colorful flowers than Roche had ever seen _from the ceiling._

“How?” 

“It’s not so complicated, really,” Iorveth explained, reaching out to brush his fingers against the velvety leaves of one plant. “There’s a mesh to let the plants grow without losing soil. Gravity does most of the work to water them from the canals above.”

Anais scrambled up Roche’s side onto his shoulders, reaching for a plant that might have been lavender or might have been a dozen other flowers – he’d never been very good with plants. 

Ves snorted at the sight of him getting crawled all over according to Anais’s whims, nudging Fenn to point it out. Roche stuck his tongue out at them – being Anais’s jungle gym would be better if she didn’t have such sharp elbows, but it truly wasn’t too bad. 

“Do you want to get closer too, Boussy?”

“Eh,” the boy shrugged, seemingly more interested in the glass walls surrounding the hanging planters.

“Sit down,” Imadia directed Iorveth to one of the many benches that lined the area. “You can appreciate the flowers while resting that leg for a change.”

“So Iorveth,” Sylvar drawled, “tell us about this mysterious sister of yours.”

Iorveth rolled his eye, “she’s not mysterious.”

“She’s a little mysterious,” Imadia shrugged. “I’ve known you since you came of age and I’ve still yet to meet her.”

“We can go head to the Mining Quarter next,” Zoltan suggested. 

Anais pulled on Roche’s chaperon, and he turned his attention to her. “I don’t care about the scary elf’s sister, I wanna touch the flowers!”

“Don’t be rude, Anais,” he scolded. “What flowers do you wanna touch?”

She pointed and he walked as directed, trying to listen to anything Iorveth shared about the surprise sister.

“What’s she like?” Taredd asked.

“Crazy? We were never very close, but she’s – uh. Well, she once said she came to Vergen because dwarves were less scared of fire than people who lived in wooden trees.”

“Fire?”

“She’s a scientist,” Iorveth shrugged. “Though no other researcher I’ve ever met has blown up quite so many labs. I still don’t understand what a genetics specialist does, but the way she does it, a lot of things catch on fire.”

“Okay, now I _have_ to meet her,” Sylvar grinned. 

“I do seem to recall,” Imadia tapped her cheek, thinking, “that you were said to be the respectable member of the family.”

Iorveth snorted, “probably not anymore.”

“Does she know about – you know,” Taredd gestured at Iorveth’s covered face.

“No idea.”

“Oh, _Iorveth,”_ Imadia’s voice was the same tone of exasperated that Roche occasionally heard from Triss. “Maybe we should let you meet her alone first?”

“I’d rather not. She’s – every time I’ve been enlisted into her experiments, I’ve regretted it.” Iorveth sighed, “somehow, I have a feeling you’re hoping for something a lot more interesting than it will actually be.”

“Honestly, I’m wondering if I should go get Ky and Maeral so they can see the show,” Sylvar snickered, “no matter how this goes, I guarantee, we will never let you live it down.”

“Ugh.”

“I don’t get it,” Boussy said, and Roche turned to see Boussy frowning up at Iorveth. “How could you go so long without seeing your sister? She’s your sister! Your family!”

Iorveth grimaced. “She is my sister, but all we share is blood. That’s not the same as family. It’s like, um,” he licked his lips and his eye flicked up to meet Roche’s for a quick second. “It’s like your Uncle Roche. He doesn’t share your blood, but he’s your family, right?” Boussy nodded without hesitation and Roche inexplicably felt like crying. “Well, that’s kind of the opposite for me and Gwyn. She was already a century old when I was born, and we just didn’t have a lot to do each other. That’s not how family works, hmm? Uncle Roche and your mother and your brother, they’re more than that, right?”

Boussy frowned, “I guess? Does she not like you or something?”

“Uh,” Iorveth scratched his cheek and shrugged. “I think we like each other fine, we just don’t have a lot in common, never really shared interests.”

“She’s older?” Boussy crossed his arms, “that’s not right. Ari’s older than us, but he always made time to play with us. She should’ve done the same for you!”

Iorveth pressed his lips together, clearly trying to hide the building smile on his face. Roche had no such compunction and grinned.

“Thank you, _en’cál_.” Iorveth said. His eyes flicked up to meet Roche’s and that smile peeked out. “I suppose we should get going, if you and your sister have seen what you want to here?”

Boussy tilted his head. “In-cay-al? What’s that mean?”

“ _En’cál_ ,” Iorveth repeated more slowly. “It’s a term of endearment. Like ‘little one’.”

“Never called _me_ little one,” Taredd pointed out. “I think he likes you, kiddo.”

“Nah,” Sylvar propped his elbow on Taredd’s head again, much to the shorter elf’s irritation. “Rinn is little one sometimes. Usually we’re the little shits.”

“Gee, I wonder why,” Iorveth rolled his eyes.

“I’m like Rinn?” Boussy beamed.

Rinn was suddenly behind Boussy and she pat his head, signing something that Roche guessed was _yes._

Boussy’s smile was as bright as the sun and Roche wasn’t the only one whose heart melted at the sight. 

“Anais, c’mon! We’re gonna go meet another elf!” 

“Ugh,” Anais grumbled above Roche’s head, her legs on either side of his neck. “I don’t care about the stupid elf and his stupid family.” They were far enough away that the elves _probably_ couldn’t hear her quiet grumble, but it made him frown. 

He poked her foot. “Be nice, Anais. What is it about Iorveth that bothers you?”

“Papa would hate him.”

For some reason, that hit Roche like a blow. It was hardly a surprise – Foltest would _definitely_ hate Iorveth. Already did, really, though he may or may not have paid attention to the name of eastern leader of the Scoia’tael.

But to hear Anais so easily dismiss Iorveth, who had been nothing but kind towards her and her brother, because she knew that Foltest would’ve hated him? It hurt, lodging something barbed deep in his chest, right between the part that ached for Iorveth and the part that had spent his entire life following Foltest.

He swallowed around the lump in his throat, choosing his words carefully. This was _important,_ dammit. He wanted Anais to grow up to be better than all of them, and, selfishly, he wanted her to like Iorveth because _he_ wanted Iorveth around.

“You’re right, your dad wouldn’t have liked him. Do you know why?”

“‘Cause he’s an elf,” Anais shrugged.

“Okay, but do you remember what we talked about on the ship? That you shouldn’t judge a species as a whole? Do you remember why that was?”

“Because…” Anais hummed, thinking, “because people have reasons for doing things?”

“Well, partly,” Roche nodded. “It’s because people should be judged as individuals, to be fair. You wouldn’t want to get in trouble for something Boussy did, right?”

“Of course not!”

“Right, so instead of being judged as siblings – or as humans, for example – you want to be judged as _you,_ as Anais. Because that’s only fair.”

Anais planted her elbows on his head, resting her chin in her hands. “So...instead of what Papa said, I should judge for myself?”

“Oh, well – yeah, that’s true, you should do that. It’s okay to rely on other people’s opinions, but you always have to be aware that they could be _wrong._ So whenever possible, you should form your own opinion, based on the information you have available. And be open to new information. Does that make sense?”

“So, for Yo-Yorvf–”

“Iorveth?” Roche offered, biting back a laugh. It wasn’t her fault elven names were strange to her – and as funny as it was to hear Iorveth’s name butchered, it was important that she became familiar with nonhuman names. They were now in a dwarven city, after all.

“Yor-veth,” Anais enunciated clearly. “So I should judge him based on what I know. But you said he looks scary but he’s not. But that’s _your_ opinion.”

It took him a few tries to respond to that. “Yes, that is my opinion. So to form your own, you’d want to look at how Iorveth has treated you, how you’ve seen him treat others. “

“But you said we couldn’t talk about what we saw.” There was a definite pout in Anais’s voice now, and Roche flushed at the reminder that she had seen him and Iorveth together. 

He cleared his throat and lowered his voice. “I did. And there’s a reason for that, remember? So that no one gets hurt?” He curled his hand around her ankle, squeezing comfortingly. “So based on how he’s treated you, what opinion of him makes sense?”

“I gueeeeeessss, he’s okay,” Anais said, and she did not sound delighted about it.

“Ana _is!”_ Boussy called, impatient. “I wanna take the train again!”

Thirteen moaned pathetically from next to an entire wall of succulents growing sideways. “Can we... _not?”_

“If yer going to be staying around for a while, it probably _is_ a good idea to know the back ways around,” Zoltan said, stroking his beard. “As long as it isn’t too many stairs.”

“Oh, thank the gods, _please!”_ Thirteen outright begged, and his face did look rather green just at the prospect of taking the train. Maybe he was dealing with it worse than Roche had thought.

“All right, lead the way,” Roche said, walking back towards the group by the bench.

Iorveth pulled himself to his feet, the slightest wince passing across his face. “It’s not too far, I think. Her lab’s in the Mining Quarter Lower Level. Apparently they’re less disturbed by explosions there.”

“From what I know o’ miners,” Zoltan chuckled, “yer not wrong.”

With Iorveth and Zoltan in the lead, they headed out to go meet Iorveth’s sister.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> En’cál = my attempt at making an Elder endearment. Came from en’ca minne in the Elder dictionary meaning ‘little love’, and cál on Scots Gaelic meaning cabbage (based on little cabbage being a term like sweetheart/pumpkin/etc in French). Also, because elves would 100% use plants as terms of endearment. I’m thinking blodyn (Welsh for flower) is used for more romantic love (so let’s see how I can use it lol).  
> In case it’s of interest: for some reason, I thought all the Elder Races spoke Elder Speech (wonder why??), but I guess the dwarves have their own language in the Witcher?? But who cares, this is my fic. Anyway, terms of endearments for dwarves are based on rocks (i.e. lil pebble). They use comparisons to rocks for both compliments and not. (i.e. “schist like that”, “damn, that’s a fine sample of igneous right there”)


	14. Arc 2: The 'Veth Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An introduction to Iorveth's sister leads to a discovery that could have far reaching implications.

_BOOM!_

The ground shook slightly with the force of the explosion and while Roche and the Blue Stripes had immediately hit the floor and covered the children, Iorveth just clicked his tongue. 

“Ah. We’re here.”

Roche was definitely not the only one to stare at him in confusion. Ignoring that, Iorveth led them up to a charred wooden door and knocked. 

“Baa Baa Black Sheep!” An elven woman with long blonde hair in a braided bun at her neck and a slightly manic look on her face cried in delight. She was wearing a white lab coat that appeared to be smoking. “Yuza, lads, come meet my baby brother!”

“Ugh,” Iorveth groaned. Nonetheless, he followed her inside when she beckoned them.

“Baa Baa Black Sheep?” Roche asked, eyebrow raised high. 

“It’s an old elven children’s rhyme,” Imadia said, laughter in her voice. “‘Baa Baa Black Sheep, Have you any wool? Yes, sir, yes, sir, Three bags full’ is the chorus. But I’ve seen you around sheep and you are _not_ a natural,” she directed at Iorveth.

“It’s not about _actual_ sheep,” Iorveth grumbled.

“No, no, lil baby bro here is Baa Baa because he is _the_ black sheep of the family,” Iorveth’s sister said. “See, all of the ‘Veth family have been innovative–”

“Mad,” Iorveth interjected.

“–scientists. Until this little Baa Baa here, who decided to be _special_ and go into music. And now – what even are you know? I’ve seen your name on wanted posters.”

Iorveth sighed. “Nice to see you too, Gwynveth.”

“Mad scientists?” Sylvar laughed, looking a little too ecstatic at Iorveth’s grimace.

“Very mad,” Iorveth muttered.

“You two look nothing alike!” Taredd said, swinging his head back and forth between them. “Are you sure you’re related?”

It was sort of true, Roche acknowledged, joining the group in their narrow-eyed assessment. On the surface, he certainly wouldn’t have expected that they were related. Where Iorveth was all gaunt, harsh lines, Gwynveth had delicate features that more than lived up to the legendary beauty of elves. 

But looking past the surface, Gwynveth and Iorveth had the same nose and their eyes were shaped the same, though their chins were different. If Iorveth looked less slim and starved, the similarities would probably be easier to see.

Well, that just meant that Roche had a good excuse to feed Iorveth as much as he could. Life as a Scoia’tael was far from the most steady, in terms of access to nutritional food, but Iorveth was serving Queen Saskia now. Vergen was clearly a wealthy city – they could certainly afford to fatten up the former Scoia’tael a bit.

“What kind of research do you do, uh – Gwynveth, right?” Dandelion asked.

“Gwyn, please,” she grinned at them. “I’ve never seen Iorveth with so many friends! And – well, humans.”

Ves coughed pointedly at the implication that she was anything other than an enemy to the Scoia’tael.

“We’ve found ourselves chasing the same goal, of recent,” Roche said. “I’m, uh, I’m Vernon Roche, and these are the Blue Stripes of Temeria.”

Gwyn’s eyebrows formed perfect arches. “Aren’t you the ones who...I mean, the wanted posters come from you, don’t they?”

“Yeah. It’s...complicated.”

“It must be! But I have to say, Baa Baa, the emo look does _not_ suit you. What’s with the bandana?”

Iorveth scowled darkly and didn’t respond, and Roche remembered that Iorveth had said she probably _didn’t_ know about his eye.

Well, Roche was hardly going to leave Iorveth under pressure to take the bandana off. Not when it was clearly so personal to Iorveth. So he cleared his throat and asked, “you didn’t say, Gwyn. What sort of research do you do?”

“Oh, I’m a geneticist! Basically, I study the genetic history and differences between species, but also between generations. In fact – you’re a Witcher, right?” she asked Geralt, who nodded slightly. “Oh, I would _love_ to get a blood sample. I have some data about Witchers, but it’s all from decades ago. A viable specimen would be – oh, groundbreaking.”

“Gwyn!” Iorveth hissed, “that’s not–”

“Actually, blood samples from ALL of you would be marvelous! One issue with our work is the limitations on what data we have. The more we can diversify and expand our sample pool, the more accurate our findings will be. Surely just a little blood is worth the advancement of science, right?”

“Well, _I_ would be delighted,” Dandelion said. “Though I must say, I am not a fan of sharp knives.”

“Knives?” a dwarf who had emerged from a back room at Gwyn’s call snorted. “What are we, barbarians? Nah, we use a syringe. You’ll hardly notice it!” They held up a syringe attached to a needle that, while certainly not a knife, was not unintimidating.

“No thanks,” Thirteen said, darting a glance at Roche.

“Ah,” Zoltan piped up, “perhaps we can leave the blood donation for anyone who is willing at the end?”

“Oh, I suppose,” Gwyn said, not at all masking her disappointment. 

“So, if you mostly work with like...blood samples and stuff,” Silas asked, “how do explosions happen?”

Gwyn waved her hand around, “if you’re _not_ exploding something, are you really sciencing?”

“Uh…”

“Told you,” Iorveth muttered to his elves, “the entire family is like this. It’s ridiculous.”

“So when you say mad scientist,” Taredd began, “you mean…”

“I mean our Uncle Goeveth once requested that a strain of syphilis be named after him because he mutated it into something different or some such.” Iorveth sounded very exasperated, and Gwyn just frowned at him.

“Just because _you_ had to go into _music_ of all things – and utterly _ruin_ the family’s trend, mind you – doesn’t mean the rest of us aren’t proud of our accomplishments. Besides, Uncle Goeveth researched diseases. What else could he ask to have named after him?”

“Not syphilis seems like a good start,” Iorveth said.

“And what do you have named after you, Baa Baa? Arrest warrants?”

“Technically,” Imadia interjected, “Iorveth did have a concert hall named after him, many years ago.”

“Wait, really?” Sylvar and Taredd both asked.

Iorveth sighed. “I _owned_ it, I didn’t name it. It’s long since turned to rubble anyway.”

“Where?”

“What’s now Old Vizima. Actually, I think they turned my performance hall into part of a prison?” Iorveth’s voice had a note of something accompanying the bitterness that made Roche feel some sort of way. Not _guilty,_ precisely, but not _not._

He hadn’t even realized that Iorveth was that serious about music. He’d assumed it was a hobby the Scoia’tael commander needed to stay sane, but the way Gwyn talked about it, the way Iorveth had apparently had an entire concert hall once… it was obviously so much more.

Geralt cleared his throat, his forehead furrowed. “You said your uncle’s name was Goeveth?”

“Yeah, why?”

“I – well, it might not be the same one, of course,” Geralt said haltingly, “but I found – there’s a journal and–”

“Maybe you should start from the beginning,” Triss said softly, putting her hand on Geralt’s shoulder.

“Right. So, in Loc Muinne – I had the chance to explore Dearhenna’s laboratory. Uh, he was a mage who was studying the decline of the Vran civilization. And – I haven’t had a chance to go through all the notes or decipher the encrypted journals yet, so, I’m not – I mean, it could be…”

“Get to the point, Gwynbleidd,” Iorveth barked.

Geralt took a deep breath and said in a rush, “If your uncle is the same Goeveth, then I think he had a hand in the extinction of the Vrans.”

There was silence for a long moment before Gwynveth picked up a beaker and chucked it at the wall. “What the fuck?” she yelled, “I invite you into my lab and you start making up absurd stories about my Uncle? Uncle Goeveth was a respected scientist! An icon! And you accuse him of – and what nonsense even is that? Everyone knows the Vrans died off because of climate changes and food scarcity.”

“That’s not what humans know,” Roche heard himself say. “We’ve found evidence that the Vrans were attacked by elves in caves below the city – but nothing in the numbers that would indicate extinction, Geralt.”

Geralt shook his head, “the Aen Seidhe didn’t fight the Vrans. From what I have – well, it’s a lot worse, actually. Goeveth’s notes led Dearhenna to cells that were filled with bones – bones of people who Goeveth had been testing his bacteria on.”

“What bacteria?”

“I think Goeveth invented it. Or mutated and modified other things to get it, I don’t know. But the bacteria caused – it’s–” Geralt licked his lips and looked to Iorveth with concerned eyes to say, “the bacteria caused infertility. The Aen Seidhe put the bacteria in Loc Muinne’s water supply – and eventually the Vrans went extinct, not because they were killed or because of food shortages, but because they could not reproduce.”

“It can’t be,” Gwyn shook her head. “No, I refuse to believe it.”

Iorveth was pale. “In...in Loc Muinne’s water? The same city the Aen Seidhe later settled? Would it have infected us too?”

Everyone turned to look at him, a heavy weight bearing down on the room.

“Dol Blathanna,” Taredd murmured.

“All those sterile elders,” Sylvar said, with a face like he’d sucked on a lemon.

“Geralt, if what you say is true,” Imadia said shakily, “then I believe this may be bigger than the reputation of one elven scientist.”

Geralt nodded solemnly. “Some of Dearhenna’s notes theorized that those Aen Seidhe who hadn’t been vaccinated may have become infected. But I don’t know how many that might be or who would’ve been exposed. Dearhenna found encrypted journals belonging to Goeveth, but I have not had a chance to decipher or read them myself.”

“Show me,” Gwyn demanded.

“No,” Iorveth held a hand up. “Bring it to Saskia. This is bigger than just us – if this bacteria _has_ infected other Aen Seidhe, then our species may face the same fate as the Vrans if we cannot find a cure.”

Gwyn crossed her arms. “I heard the Scoia’tael leader followed the Dragonslayer around with heart eyes. Didn’t realize it was you.”

Iorveth ignored her. “This is a serious accusation. If it’s true – and if elves have been infected – we will likely need to work with Dol Blathanna to test people for the bacteria. And that means we need to go through official channels to investigate this.”

“And our new Queen Saskia is the official channel, of course,” Gwyn mocked lightly, but she nodded. “Fine. As representative of the scientist’s guild in Vergen, I expect to be officially invited to the Queen’s council for this matter.”

“Of course.”

“And I _will_ want to see those notes, Witcher.”

Geralt nodded, “it sounds like we might need several copies. Queen Saskia can decide what to do with the originals.”

“Fine. Then get out of my lab. I think I’ve had quite enough of Baa Baa’s _friends_ today.”

Iorveth smiled coldly, “Gwynveth.” He nodded to her and turned on his heel, marching out.

“Oh, but if you’d still like to donate blood, I could use it!” Gwyn called from behind them as the rest of the group followed Iorveth out.

“Well,” Zoltan cleared his throat. “Why don’t I show ye to the council chambers, now. Saskia might not still be there, but I’m sure she’ll call all of you to report to her sooner or later.”

They didn’t head for the train this time, and instead, Zoltan led them back to the dimly lit corridors and stairs that mirrored the trains. 

“I don’t get it,” Anais said, putting her chin on her crossed arms atop Roche’s head.

“That’s okay, darling, it’s complicated. Why don’t we talk about it later?” he murmured softly.

“Fine,” Anais shrugged, “then can we get food? ‘Cause I’m hungry.”

“Me too,” Boussy said from next to Rinn.

Zoltan laughed, “it’s been a bit of a day, hasn’t it, wee ones? We’ll hit the public dining hall on the way.”

“Public dining hall?” Roche asked. 

“It’s actually something Saskia organized when she first came to Vergen!” Dandelion reported excitedly, bouncing on his toes. “She said that in a wealthy city like Vergen, there was absolutely no reason why anyone should go hungry. It’s our job as a community to support each other, so the Dragonslayer organized public funds to supply food for any who go to the dining hall. It’s good food, too – the cook does a mean pot pie, and the beans are excellent. Not like the slop cooks you get in army camps at all!”

Roche’s stomach growled. “Yeah, let’s go there.”

“It’s right near the council chamber, anyway,” Zoltan said. “Saskia has really focused on being one of the people – so anyone and everyone is invited to go to the town square and get food, learn about what’s going on in the community, and even petition Saskia!”

“She just gets more and more perfect,” Brigida murmured, voice akin to a fervent prayer. 

“Is that what we’ll do?” Boussy asked.

“Maybe,” Roche responded, “why don’t we eat and find out where we’ll be staying and then after we’ve all gotten some rest, we can go talk to Saskia and discover what you can expect.”

“‘kay,” Anais said, starting to try to get off of Roche’s shoulders by herself. He grabbed her before she could fall and set her on the ground. 

Zoltan led them up to the surface again, and then higher up, to where a large stone castle was built into the mountain. 

“This’s the Castle of the Three Fathers,” he explained, “it’s where the town square is and where all the city business is held. The council chambers and ambassadorial rooms are in here too, to the south there. The Castle is also the main interchange for both foot and train traffic, so it’s usually pretty busy. To get to the train station, you’d go through there,” Zoltan pointed at a door to the side. “But _this,_ this is the town square.”

He walked them up the ramp into a large hexagonal stone enclosure, with pathways extending in four different directions. The fifth side of the room, the only one with a full wall instead of a passageway, contained a large statue holding a bucket on its shoulder. The statue appeared to be a woman-like figure, with voluptuous hips and breasts, but the face was very simplistically carved, just three holes for the eyes and mouth.

Zoltan continued towards the opposite pathway, leading them through a door on the side that apparently led to the dining room, but Roche had to ask.

“What’s up with those statues? I’ve seen them all over today.”

“Oh, Yisna the Flame!” Zoltan said, “she – well, it’s not really ‘she’, but that’s the best translation in Common – she’s the goddess of fertility and war. We dwarves hold her highly – that’s why she’s here in the town square, and all over the city. To remind us of the other side of creation: destruction.”

“Fertility _and_ war? Isn’t that a little, I dunno, contradictory?” Thirteen pointed out.

“Not to a dwarf,” Dandelion grinned. “They’re two sides of the same coin: life and death, creation and destruction. That’s why she’s called the Flame – like fire, destruction can be the first step in creation. But what was before is still lost.”

“That’s kinda funny,” Taredd said, “across our three species, we all worship goddesses of fertility. Melitele for the humans, Yisna for the dwarves, and Navé for us elves.”

“Navé?” Thirteen asked, shaping his mouth around the word carefully.

“Oh yes,” Imadia nodded. “While our species is long lived, childbirth is still as dangerous as it is for humans. We respect those who are capable of it and those who live through it.”

“But the flipside of that,” Taredd said, “is that we value fertility. Calling someone sterile is a significant insult to us.” He glanced at Geralt, “if – if what you said is true, and if elves are infected, this is a big deal. Because elves are connected to nature and nature is _productive._ Nature _creates._ But if we as a species _can’t…_ ”

“It’s worse,” Iorveth said, his voice gravely. “Think about it. The settlement of Loc Muinne happened during – well, not _your_ lifetime, but certainly the Elders were alive for it. Do we really think someone could come up with a plan to eradicate a species without approval from the Elders?”

“That’s–” Imadia started, “that’s a serious accusation, Iorveth. If the Elders knew and _hid it…”_

Iorveth’s lips curled in a snarl, “this isn’t the first time the Elders have betrayed us. They were willing to massacre the commanders of the Vrihedd Brigade – why shouldn’t they have also hidden the cause of our extinction from us?”

“That’s a little extreme,” Imadia argued, “we don’t _know_ that they hid it or lied about it. We also don’t even know for sure that our people _are_ infected. It’s possible…”

Iorveth just gave her a look. “A dozen children, after five years when over two thousand elves have settled there? If this isn’t the cause, then the Elders should be ashamed anyway.”

“I mean, it’s not like the Scoia’tael have been making babies,” Sylvar said, “like, I would love to spit in Francesca’s face, but when I insult that _chwyn_ I wanna be accurate. Can’t let her talk her way out of it.”

“If you were, I’d’ve benched you,” Iorveth scoffed. “A few hundred warriors aren’t the same as two thousand settled people. A birth rate of less than 1%? If it’s _not_ the bacteria, then we’re dying out anyway.”

Roche watched Anais mouth ‘chwyn’ to herself and pinched the bridge of his nose. “This probably isn’t the place to talk about any of this. First things first, Geralt, you’re probably the best person aside from Saskia to have the notes, but–”

“I know,” Geralt said. “I’ll keep them safe. And make copies. I can encrypt them, but it’ll take time to teach you the ciphers.”

“Silas,” Roche called, “work with Geralt if he needs it. Silas is our master codebreaker – he probably knows more ciphers than you’ve forgotten.”

“Yes, sir!” 

“Now let’s go fucking eat before these munchkins decide we taste good,” he said, poking Anais’s cheek where she’d started chewing on her hair. “Let’s get you something you _can_ put in your mouth, huh?” Anais shrugged, continuing to chew on her hair until Roche pulled it out. “C’mon darling, what do you want to eat?”

“I want potatoes!” Boussy volunteered.

“Uh, I think they have sweet potatoes? Ever had those?”

As he and Brigida wrangled the children into ordering food they would actually eat but was still reasonably nutritious, everyone else grabbed their food and found a seat at one of the many tables in the room. Ves and the Blue Stripes deliberately took over a full table, pointedly leaving the Scoia’tael to sit by themselves (which they seemed perfectly fine with, honestly). 

When Roche, Brigida, Anais, and Boussy approached the “human” table, they found Pillow Tits lecturing his teammates. “You’ve barely even taken the opportunity to get to know them!” he was saying, “how can you know that you hate them without knowing anything about them?”

“I know that they’ve killed us,” Finch growled.

“And we’ve killed them. Remember we’re usually the ones ambushing people,” Roche set his tray down and frowned at them all. “Try to remember that we have two mini-spies in training who listen far too intently to everything you say,” he said, arching an eyebrow at Anais. She just shrugged and grinned around her mouthful.

“So, Zoltan,” he said, “where are we likely to be staying? The inn? The rooms here?”

Zoltan, sitting next to the Scoia’tael who muttered lowly to themselves, stroked his beard as he considered how to answer. “Well, the Scoia’tael who came for the battle have been keeping to themselves in the area next to the Old Gate, so you could set up an HQ somewhere like that, on the outskirts. But if you’re planning to stay for real, there will probably need actual housing arranged at some point.”

“But for now? It’s been a long day.” Boussy yawned widely as if to support his point, leaning against him – and incidentally getting gravy all over his uniform. Ugh.

“Use your napkin, Boussy,” Brigida scolded, but from the way her lips were pressed together, she was also definitely laughing at him.

“Ah, Zoltan, there ye are, you old dog!” a deep voice called and one of the dwarves who had gone with Saskia earlier was making his way towards them. “Ah good, you’re all here. Saskia dove straight into work, of course, but she did get a few rooms arranged for you.” He looked over the Blue Stripes suspiciously, though his gaze noticeably softened as it passed over the children. “I’m ta remind you that the Blue Stripes have no authority in Vergen. You have a problem with something, you take it to the guard.”

“Of course,” Roche inclined his head. “And uh, who are you?”

The dwarf snorted. “Where are my manners? Yarpen Zigrin is the name.”

“Vernon Roche,” he nodded respectfully, then hesitated over whether to introduce the children.

“Lovely to meet ye. Now, Saskia set the kids up right across from her, so whoever is staying with them, I can show you where that is. The rest of y’all, Saskia will try to get individual rooms, but with the influx of the Scoia’tael, may be a while. But there’s a house next to the children’s that’ll fit several dwarves comfortably. No’ sure about humans.”

“That’s fine,” Ves said, and even though Thirteen and Shorty groaned dramatically, the truth was that they would likely all end up sleeping in a pile with Pillow Tits anyway. Roche was a little sad to miss it, honestly. 

Yarpen turned to the Scoia’tael table, “Iorveth, I assume you’ll be staying with your men, but Saskia was insistent that if your people want to stay more permanently, we will find housing for them.” Iorveth nodded. “Geralt, you still good with staying at the inn? Saskia mentioned she made an offer to Miss Merigold – hello again,” he grinned at her, “so if ye want on the list for permanent housing, we’ll take care of you properly!”

“The inn’ll do for tonight,” Geralt said, smiling softly. “If you’re up for it, I could buy a few rounds and correct Dandelion’s wild stories.”

“Hey!” Dandelion pouted.

“You’re on!” Yarpen grinned. “I’ll meet ye at the pub.” He turned back to Roche and his yawning children – the eight year olds _and_ the Blue Stripes. “Everyone done eatin’?”

“Say,” Thirteen piped up, “where does a man get some booze around here? I have been sober for a disgustingly long time and that needs to change.”

“Oh gods, yes please,” Ves sighed longingly.

Yarpen laughed, “they have ale here. But the inn’ll be your best bet for a good time. Ye can follow me after I show the wee ones to their rooms, aye?”

“Yes, thank you,” Roche said, dabbing at the gravy on his sleeve. Eh, not the worst thing that had ever dried on his uniform, but he would kill for a bath and some clean clothes.

“Oh!” Yarpen snapped his fingers, making Silas jolt from where he’d been half-dozing against Pillow Tits. “Saskia’ll be holdin’ a council in the morning. She wants Iorveth, Miss Merigold, Commander Roche, and the wee ones to attend. The council chambers’ just through there,” Yarpen waved towards one of the hallways. “Shall we?”

Pulling Boussy up on his hip, Roche watched Iorveth and his elves get up and head out as the Stripes got their shit together. Iorveth glanced back to meet his gaze, and Roche couldn’t help staring after him even long after he’d left.

Boussy yawned loudly in his ear, and Roche jerked his attention back to the moment. Triss waved, covering her own yawn, and then followed Geralt, Dandelion, and Zoltan out of the dining hall. 

Why was it that his men could be ready in a split second at the prospect of an attack, but just getting up after dinner was a chaotic mess?

Finally, Yarpen led them out of the Castle of the Three Fathers and down to the train station. The ride was uneventful, aside from Thirteen’s death grip on Fenn’s arm the entire way, and they emerged near the market square.

“Saskia’s room is just across the way,” Yarpen pointed to the door that was guarded by two stern-faced Scoia’tael. “And you’re through here.”

The indicated door led to a large room where a fire crackled merrily in the fireplace across from the door. There was a small kitchen tucked in next to the fireplace, and a large bed took up about a quarter of the room, arranged to face another statue of Yisna the Flame, the dwarven goddess of fertility. Roche wrinkled his nose. Not to shit on anyone else’s beliefs, but it seemed to him like it would be a bit difficult to be make babies with the blank faced statue staring down at you.

Still, the room was more than he would’ve expected, and he said his thanks to Yarpen, then turned a stern glare on his men. “Remember, we are _guests_ here. For the love of fuck, don’t get yourselves kicked out of the inn.”

“Yeah, yeah, we know the rules, Boss,” Thirteen waved his hand.

“Don’t kill anyone,” Silas recited.

“Don’t get anyone pregnant,” Shorty ticked off.

“And if you wake up in jail, you pay your own bail,” Ves said. “Go get some sleep, Boss. I’ll keep them from getting too crazy.”

Yarpen gave them all a strange look. “I’ll show y’all the inn, then, yeah?”

“Lead on, my good dwarf,” Thirteen said dramatically, “our ale awaits us!”

Shaking his head with a laugh, Roche closed the door and set Boussy down on the bed. “You two ready to sleep?”

“Story first!” Anais insisted.

“You sure? You seem pretty tired.”

“Story!”

“All right, all right.” He crawled into bed opposite Brigida, so that they had the children between them. As he’d predicted, he barely managed a full sentence of the story before Boussy and Anais were both conked out, Boussy snoring softly.

Brigida laughed, “I’m always surprised by how good you are with kids.”

“Really? I mean, I’m just doing what I do with my squad, but for – you know – tiny humans.”

Brigida shook her head. “Good night, Vernon.”

“Night, Brigida,” he yawned, and closed his eyes, hoping sleep would come swiftly.

It should have – he was exhausted after the long day and his limbs felt heavy. But there was a restlessness inside him. He wished that Iorveth was here, that Iorveth could join them – or even better, if he could have Iorveth alone…

After long hours of tossing and turning, he eventually dozed off, his thoughts swirling with Iorveth and longing and hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All that stuff with the Vrans? is actually canon! If you're curious, there's a whole quest in Loc Muinne (Chapter 3 of W2) where you get to explore Dearhenna's Laboratory with Cecilia and you find the notes that discovered what happened.
> 
> Also, chwyn means weed in Welsh, because Elven insults are based on nature lmao.  
> Gwynbleidd = White Wolf in Elder


	15. Arc 2: Saskia's Council

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saskia and her advisors take the first steps in building their vision of the Free Pontar Valley.

After what felt like five minutes, but was apparently eight hours, Roche woke up feeling heavy and irritable. Just the kind of mood that boded well for the coming day, which would undoubtedly feature childish temper tantrums – not even necessarily from the _actual_ children, either. The Blue Stripes had been through so much lately – losing Temeria, losing their homes and their lives, losing their King, inheriting two children, uprooting their lives… if something didn’t give soon, they would explode, and that was hardly the way Roche wanted to introduce his team to the new world they might choose to live in.

He would need to make time for them today, need to find a way to give all of them the space they needed to process. To grieve. To decide what would happen next.

To be together for one last time if some of them decided to stay in Vizima.

Roche swallowed the lump in his throat and splashed water on his face, cleaning up as well as he could without a proper rinse and soak. Brigida had thoughtfully washed his tunic and left it out to dry. It would have been _more_ thoughtful if she’d wrung it out before setting it out to dry, but he was pretty sure that was on purpose.

“Did I piss you off recently?” he asked, walking into the room’s dining area. 

“Maybe,” Brigida smirked, and refused to say anything further. “We need to go to the market later and stock up on food for the kids, but for now, I made us some porridge.”

“Thanks,” Roche slumped at the table. “Can you get them up?”

“What is this, day 3 of child rearing and you’re already exhausted? That does not bode well for your future, Vernon,” Brigida tutted, but she did cross the room to the bed and corral the children into washing, eating, and dressing.

“You okay, Uncle Roche?” Anais asked, and he realized he’d been staring into his porridge.

“Ah, yeah, just tired. I want – ah, nevermind. I just need some coffee,” he answered around a yawn. 

“You better hope Saskia provides some for her council, then, ‘cause we’re out of it,” Brigida said, and there was only a smidgen of pity on her face. Roche groaned dramatically anyway, just because he could.

Anais, at least, cared about his plight and patted him on the head. She also took the opportunity to play with his hair, since he hadn’t put on his chaperon yet, but still. 

“C’mon, children, let’s head to Saskia’s council. You want to see Saskia again, don’t you? Have you decided if you want to accept her offer or not?” Brigida asked, holding Boussy’s hand as the boy more or less let her drag him forward as he just yawned and rubbed his eyes.

“We’re gonna answer her today,” Anais said cheerily. Then, she tugged on Roche’s tunic and asked, “can I ride your shoulders again, Uncle Roche?”

The prospect of carrying not only his own weight but another’s as well had exhaustion dragging at his limbs. But on the other hand, Anais was looking up at him pleadingly and if she was on his shoulders, she wouldn’t be able to go running off anywhere. Maybe it would cost less energy in the long run?

“Yeah, sure,” he grunted, not actually sure how legible he was. Talking seemed like a lot of effort right now.

Still, he pulled himself to his feet and levered Anais onto his shoulders. She wrapped her arms around his forehead and propped her chin on his head. 

“Can I braid your hair?” Anais asked while they were walking down the stone pathways, and Roche said yes before he’d really processed the request. In fact, he only really registered what he’d agreed to when he felt little fingers weaving through his hair.

“Oh, I forgot my chaperon,” he realized belatedly.

Brigida snorted. “I’m pretty sure I remember how to get to the council chamber,” she said, “so just follow me and try not to fall asleep, hmm? I promise I’ll go find you coffee once we get there.”

“Yes. Coffee. Please,” Roche grunted. 

She did remember the way, it turned out, and before long, they were walking up the stone ramp into the Castle of the Three Fathers. “Oh, I bet the dining hall has coffee,” Brigida said brightly and deposited Boussy’s hand in his before bustling away.

Roche blinked after her for a long minute while Anais continued to play with his hair and Boussy just yawned. “Uh, council chamber. To the south, I think they said?” he muttered to himself. Boussy was apparently determined not to use his legs, so Roche dragged him along as he moved towards what he hoped was the right corridor.

A deep voice speaking Elder told him he was in the right place, and something in his gut leapt even before he recognized the voice as Iorveth’s. Roche shouldered open the door and Iorveth broke off as he and Saskia turned to look at him – and both quickly hid smiles behind their hands. 

“Uh, don’t mind me,” he grunted, scoping out the room for a good corner to set up in with the kids. Moving to lean against the wall, he dipped to the side to let Boussy sink down to sit on the floor and then pressed his own back against the wall. Anais hummed softly under her breath as she did gods knew what to his hair.

Saskia turned to look at him with a strange expression. “Commander Roche,” she said, and he jerked out of a half-doze to return her gaze. “You have a seat at the table. All of you.”

He blinked at her, confused. The council after the battle was one thing, but Roche _knew_ what his place was in regards to royalty, and it wasn’t to sit at the table as an equal. He was an enforcer, made to stand menacingly in the corner and step forward when a little brute strength was needed.

“Sit down before you fall over, idiot,” Iorveth’s voice snapped him out of his daze and he stumbled forward to the huge stone table that took up the majority of the room. The table was twelve–sided, with chairs pulled up to each smooth edge and each quarter was carved with what looked like runes. 

Roche pulled Boussy into his arms – the boy _still_ insisted on acting as dead weight – and propped him up in the chair next to Saskia, then tapped Anais’s ankle.

“You want down, darlin’?”

“No.”

Iorveth snorted, clearly biting back a grin. When he noticed Roche looking at him, he arched his eyebrow, nothing but amusement and affection in his gaze.

There was no reason for that to make Roche feel breathless. No reason at all.

He poked Anais, “didn’t you have something to tell Saskia?”

“I can tell her from here,” Anais stated, tone brokering no argument. She definitely learned that from her dad.

Roche shrugged – well, tried to, but he had an eight year old on his shoulders – and sat next to Boussy. He was able to lean back against the chair without dislodging his charge, so he gratefully melted into the seat, still feeling entirely too hazy for someone in the same room with his ~~lover~~ enemy and the woman said enemy would follow through fire. 

“We were just talking about housing,” Saskia said, inviting him into the conversation. “There are Scoia’tael who are willing to invest in a permanent life here in Vergen.”

“Yeah? Not too fused about living alongside humans?” he asked thoughtlessly.

Iorveth’s jaw tightened. “Some of them are,” he admitted. “There are others who have no wish to leave the forests.”

“That’s not unexpected,” Saskia said. “But some _are_ willing to try, and that’s what’s important. We must make sure that Vergen is hospitable – for them and for others. Now that the battle is not looming over us, it is time to make _change.”_ Iorveth smiled at her, relaxing again, and Roche felt. Something. 

It wasn’t a nice something, and he didn’t like feeling it, so he cleared his throat and nudged Anais again. “You planning on leaving her in suspense, or do you have an answer for Saskia?”

Anais nudged her brother with her foot and straightened, posture perfect if not for her perch on Roche’s shoulders. Boussy jerked awake with a snort and blinked blearily at her until Anais nudged him again.

“We’re telling Saskia,” she hissed. 

“Oh,” Boussy perked up, turning to Saskia. “We have something to say.”

Anais cleared her throat. “I, Anais La Valette, Daughter of Louisa La Valette and Foltest, King of Temeria,” she recited, no doubt precisely as she’d been taught in her etiquette lessons.

“And I, Boussy La Valette, Son of Louisa La Valette and Foltest, King of Temeria,” her brother said.

“Do hereby accept your generous offer of an apprenticeship in the art of statesmanship,” Anais finished. She mouthed a few words to herself as if verifying that she got them right, then nodded. 

“I am honored for the opportunity to work beside you,” Saskia intoned, just as serious as the children’s voices had been. “I would like to take today to officially announce you to my council. And to offer a few additional positions.” She turned to Iorveth, sitting beside her, and smiled at him. “Iorveth, you have been my confidante and advisor throughout this fight. I would like to make that official. You’ve effectively already taken over duties as head of our military and my security. Are you willing to continue to serve me in that capacity?”

“Of course, Dragonslayer,” Iorveth said immediately, bowing his head slightly. 

“Thank you,” Saskia downright beamed and Roche had to look away. It wasn’t – he didn’t think he was jealous. Or at least, he wasn’t certain who he was jealous of?

Before he had a chance to sort that out, Saskia turned to him. “I would also like to offer a position to you, Vernon Roche.”

Roche automatically straightened when she addressed him, though it likely wasn’t impressive with an eight year old on his shoulders. 

“I will admit, I don’t fully understand the role you played for King Fotlest,” Saskia continued, and Roche blinked at her. Well, she was a peasant, wasn’t she? There was no real reason for her to know that _all_ the kings had someone like him. Someone who got their hands dirty when no one else would. “So I do not know how different the role I would ask of you is. But from what I know of you, from what Iorveth tells me of you – I believe you would make an excellent Head of Intelligence. I’m told every state needs one, and I would like to ask that you serve me as such.”

“Oh,” Roche drew back in surprise. Serve someone other than Foltest? Did he even know how to do that? Did he _want_ to do that? “I – you’re asking me to serve the Free Pontar Valley. To serve you,” he spelled out, thinking it over. “I can’t do that. I will always serve Temeria first – Anais and Boussy will always come first.” He licked his lips. “But you’re giving my people shelter in your state, and Anais and Boussy would like to work next to you. If those limitations are acceptable, then yes, I’m happy to serve.”

Saskia smiled at him and something bright shone in his chest. “Your loyalty does you credit, Vernon Roche. I accept your terms – and in fact, I will rely on your loyalty to Temeria. I expect there will be an influx of Temerian refugees in the coming months who will need to be settled – but also need to be held accountable to our laws. Nonhumans are equal here, and I will not stand for the kind of violence that the other Northern Kingdoms authorize.”

“Of course,” Roche nodded. “But if you are expecting the Temerian refugees to defer to me in anyway – the Blue Stripes aren’t particularly liked amongst the common population.”

“Gee, I wonder why,” a dwarf muttered as they walked in and took a seat on the far side of the table. 

“I understand,” Saskia nodded. “I will not ask miracles. But I could use information.”

“That I can do,” Roche bowed his head. When he raised it again, he caught sight of Brigida approaching with a tray of mugs. “Oh, bless you, darling,” he said reverently, taking the coffee she passed him and inhaling the steam deeply before even taking a sip.

_Wow,_ dwarves apparently made some _good_ coffee. Possibly even better than that elven stuff he’d tried once and occasionally dreamed of. 

It was possible he’d moaned into his cup a little bit, because when he looked up again, Iorveth was staring intently at him and Brigida and Anais were giggling quietly. Saskia, entirely unperturbed, turned to Boussy.

“Are there particular subjects that interest you, Boussy? Anything you’d especially like to focus on?”

“Oh!” Boussy’s fatigue vanished in the face of discussing his interests, “I wanna learn that glassblowing thing we saw in the forge! That was so cool!”

“Yeah?” Saskia smiled at him. “I’m sure we can make that happen. Right now, it’s primarily dwarves who apprentice with masters, though the occasional human or elf does too, depending on their trade. But I’d like to make it more standard – every young person should get the experience to apprentice in a field of interest and discover if it’s truly for them.”

“What if we don’t know what’s ‘of interest’?” Anais asked.

“Good question. There are definitely a lot of details I still need to figure out – something I hope to do with the help of everyone here,” Saskia turned to welcome those who were slipping inside with a smile. 

“Morning, Saskia,” several dwarves murmured, taking their seats with little ceremony.

“Good morning, Lady Saskia,” one of the human peasants bowed.

“Come,” Saskia said, “let us sit together as equals. We are building something new and complicated here and we are doing it together. You all know that I prefer anyone who has a question or an issue to speak up – but I want to push you further. Think about the future we’re trying to build, think about a land where humans, dwarves, elves, and all others are equal. One where there are no peasants or nobles, but simply people of all walks of life. It’s going to take work for us to create that land – but I believe that we, together, can do it.”

There were cheers around the table and when Roche glanced around, there were smiles on everyone’s face – dwarf and human and elf alike. How odd, that this woman was able to bring them all together, to unite them in a cause that Roche would have said was impossible three days ago, before he’d ever met Saskia.

Now? Now he found himself actually wanting to believe in it, actually thinking about how to make it work. Thinking about how to make _himself_ better so he could be worthy of a future like that – one where maybe someday he could openly sit beside Iorveth and not worry that he might get caught staring at the elf’s lips.

“Now, there are several new people amongst us today. I would like to officially announce that Anais and Boussy La Valette, the children of the late King Foltest of Temeria will be apprenticing under me to help us build the Free Pontar Valley.”

“First Temerians get offered asylum, now they take over our government? Saskia–” one of the several murmuring dwarves and peasants spoke up.

“Hear me out,” Saskia requested. “Accepting our laws is a condition of coming here. I expect everyone – Temerian, Aedirnian, and Vergeni to accord every individual the respect they are due. I realize this will be difficult to enforce, especially at first. However, the Temerians who come will listen to Anais and Boussy, to the heirs of Temeria. But more than that – I need help in building this realm with all of you. I believe we will be better for Anais and Boussy’s partnership – and until you can get to know them, I ask you to trust my assessment of them. I will be training these two children, and they will learn to rule beside me.”

Roche licked his lips, feeling overwhelmed by Saskia’s fervor. If she approached every part of leadership the way she approached this, maybe she really _could_ build the world she dreamed of.

“Now, I believe it may be beneficial for everyone to introduce themselves. There are a lot of new faces amongst us.” 

As the dwarves, elves, and humans went around introducing themselves, Roche was struck with just how many people believed in Saskia. Because it was clear in every person’s face – they _truly_ believed in her, truly believed that she would bring them to this world she promised.

Hopefully they would also be willing to do the work to get there.

“Triss Merigold, Mage,” Triss introduced herself a few seats down from Roche. She’d officially accepted Saskia’s offer, then.

“Vernon Roche, Intelligence,” he nodded when they came to him.

“And wrangler of children?” Borislav, one of the peasants, asked

“Got a problem with that?” Roche asked, realizing as he glared that his intimidation factor was probably greatly reduced by the braids in his hair.

Several dwarves coughed in ways that sounded suspiciously like laughter and Roche turned his glare on them.

“To business,” Saskia brought them to task, “Triss, I believe you said you had something that required our attention?”

“Yes,” Triss said. “Actually, I asked the Witcher Geralt to be available, as he is the one who has the details. But I would like to bring the council’s attention to a potential issue. We believe that an unknown number of elves may have been infected by a bacteria designed to cause the extinction of a species by making them sterile. Geralt has more information, and I would encourage us to invite him in and listen to what he has to say, but for the moment, I am requesting that we begin testing to see the scope of this issue.”

Whispering broke out as Triss spoke, and once she mentioned sterility, several dwarves put their heads together, murmuring fervently. 

“When would this infection have happened?” one of the dwarves asked.

“Is it contagious?” Borislav the human piped up.

“There is much we do not yet know,” Triss said, “but there is no reason to believe it is contagious. Please – let Geralt tell the whole story and we will understand more of where we stand.”

“Very well,” Saskia nodded, “please invite Witcher Geralt inside.”

Triss rose and opened the chamber door, then returned shortly with Geralt walking along behind her.

“Geralt,” Saskia welcomed, “Triss tells us you have information for us.”

“I do, Your Highness. This information comes from a researcher from the Black Academy named Dearhenna. What he found caused him to flee in fear of his life, but I found his encrypted notes and journals below Loc Muinne. Dearhenna was researching the decline of the Vran civilization – and what he discovered was that the Vrans did not die by natural means at all. Their water supply in Loc Muinne was infected with a custom-made bacteria – created at least in part by an elf named Goeveth. I have some of his journals, which may be helpful for this group.”

“A custom-made bateria?” someone scoffed. “For what purpose?”

“To kill off a civilization without needing to fight, I would assume,” Geralt said. “I have seen the cells full of the lizard-like bones from the Vrans who were experimented on. The bacteria is not only effective, but may have infected an unknown number of Aen Seidhe – either those that were part of this plan, or those that latter settled in Loc Muinne, where the water supply was tainted.”

“Didn’t all the elves who settled in Loc Muinne get massacred?” Yarpen Zirgin asked.

“Not all,” Iorveth said. “Elves lived in Loc Muinne for decades before Marshal Raupenneck murdered all who breathed inside the walls.”

“And what do you propose we do about this? Who cares if the elves infected themselves?”

“I care,” Saskia said. “We are working to build a land free from prejudice,” she pointedly looked at the peasant who had spoken. “What is the scope of this issue? Do we have any sense of how many elves might have been infected and where they are now?”

“Not yet,” Triss shook her head. “That’s why we propose beginning to test any elves that are willing. Geralt’s notes include enough about the bacteria that the Scientist’s Guild should be able to identify it in blood samples. I also believe that we should reach out to Dol Blathanna and share what we’ve learned – there are over two thousand settled elves there, many of whom are elders who might have lived or worked near Loc Muinne.”

Saskia tapped her fingers on the table, thinking. “I agree – we must contact Dol Blathanna. If testing is required, then they will need the information to begin doing so themselves. We can send a messenger – but if I recall correctly, mages can contact each other more directly with the right materials, is that right?”

“Yes, Your Highness. I have the supplies to build a megascope, and I can contact Francesca Finderbair, if that’s what you wish,” Triss nodded. 

“Do so,” Saskia ordered, “and work with the Scientist’s Guild to ensure that word gets out here in Vergen that elves should go get tested. Once we have a better sense of how severe this issue is, we will decide what to do next.”

“Yes, sire.”

Saskia’s face softened. “I know a great deal of change has happened over the past week. Yes, I, Saskia of Vergen, have taken on the rule of the Free Pontar Valley, but I am no queen, nor do I wish to be. If we are to have equality in our realm, we must first start here. This table is designed so that we all sit beside each other as equals, as individuals with voices that carry the same weight. Please, do not hold me above you – our laws and customs must apply to me just as much as they apply to you.”

“But you must be respected, Lady Saskia,” Borislav began.

“I am no lady or noble, either, Borislav. That is part of why you chose to follow me.” Saskia looked around the table, smiling at each of them. “I know this is difficult. We are building something new, something without a template to guide us. As scary as that is, it gives us an incredible opportunity for innovation. Let us dedicate ourselves to doing what _works,_ rather than what is proper or traditional. Can we agree on that?”

“Aye!”

“Good. Now, our next order of business,” Saskia began, “housing. I would like this to be our first initiative – I want every resident of Vergen, temporary or permanent – to have solid, quality housing by year’s end. No more slums with leaky wooden roofs. No more human enclave, with separate accommodations for nobles and peasants. All people deserve a safe and secure place to live – and we are going to provide that.”

“But how will we pay for it?” Cecil Burdon, Vergen’s Alderman fretted.

“Vergen’s mines are some of the most prosperous on the continent. Our craftsmen are the best in the Northern Kingdoms. Our market is the busiest on the continent. Surely we can find the coin to employ workers to build and renovate housing. Do not look at this as charity, my friends – this is an investment in our future. This is jobs and materials and labor for those who need it. Vergen will more than recoup the coin we put into this venture. We just have to be willing to start. Are we?”

“Yes!” several people cried. 

“If Vergen is to expand in this way,” Yarpen stroked his beard as he thought, “we have two options – out or up. We can dig further into the mountain, expand our lower levels for more housing. Or we can build them aboveground – but our space is more limited, so we will need to build up.”

“Why not both? Those needing housing are humans and elves, who may prefer to be aboveground, yes, but also dwarves who may wish to live below. Let us work on both and individuals can decide for themselves whether they want to live on the surface or not,” Saskia said. “Skalen, would you be willing to oversee this initiative? With support from all of us, of course, but I would like you to manage this project.”

“I would be honored, Saskia,” Skalen Burdon said, eyes bright. The Alderman’s nephew was young for a dwarf, from Roche’s understanding. Aside from the recent battle, this was an opportunity to prove himself. Roche hoped he was up to it – it certainly looked like he had the energy needed, at least.

“Wonderful,” Saskia smiled at him, and the dwarf’s cheeks grew pink. “Yarpen, have the mines been reopened?”

“Not yet,” Yarpen, the new Mine Overseer, reported. “But we can confirm that the monsters have been rooted out and taken care of.”

“Then let’s let people get back to work. Skalen, work with the Stonemason Guild to estimate costs and materials needed. Once we have that, we will determine how much to tax to pay for it.” Heads nodded around the table and Saskia looked to each of them. “Do we have any other business to attend to? Good. Then let’s get to work!”

There was a clamour as chairs scraped against stone and people began whispering and talking to each other. Roche stayed where he was, planning to wait out the rush before going to find more coffee. Iorveth walked around Saskia to leave, which let him brush fingers across Roche’s arm and even though Anais grumbled about Iorveth’s proximity, Roche felt warmth spread through his chest. They were really doing this – really attempting to build a new life and new world together.

It was terrifying and exhilarating to acknowledge and he swallowed hard, eyes following Iorveth as the elf continued out of the room.

“Something you need, Commander Roche?”

“Just Roche is fine. My command was under Temerian jurisdiction, anyway.” He covered a yawn, “excuse me. And actually,” he glanced around, but the room was now empty of everyone but the four of them – Roche, Saskia, Anais, and Boussy. “I was wondering – I mean, about the housing, um.”

“Yes?”

“Did Iorveth ask for a permanent house?” he blurted, trying not to blush at the way Saskia’s eyebrow arched. “I just – I was thinking about how important music is to him, and well… might be nice if his house is somewhere with acoustics. Yeah,” Roche cleared his throat awkwardly.

“You’re quite right,” Saskia grinned at him. “The wonderful thing about stone is it’s very soundproofing, but yes, I hadn’t thought about the acoustics. He would like that.”

Roche tilted his head, thinking back on Saskia’s offer to Iorveth. “Do you know him well? I wouldn’t think a Scoia’tael leader would have the time or opportunity to connect with – well, you.”

She chuckled, “we met by chance. Iorveth was actually the one to convince me to try to make my vision a reality, you know. I don’t know if anyone else could have talked me into it, quite honestly. But if I can inspire someone like Iorveth, who has fought and despised humans for centuries, to choose to live beside them? Surely I must be doing something right.”

“You are,” he said without thinking. “I mean – this room. I’ve never seen that many different people get together without bloodshed. But they all believe in you. It’s–” he cleared his throat again. “I mean, it’s kinda inspirational.”

Even though he’d definitely mumbled those last few words, Saskia beamed at him as if she’d had no trouble understanding whatsoever. “Thank you,” she said, then tilted her head to look at him. “You know – far be it from me to stick my nose in where it doesn’t belong – but while Iorveth hasn’t actually _said_ anything, he really didn’t need to.”

Roche’s breath froze in his chest. “I–”

“Oh good!” Anais said, “does that mean we can talk about the kissing thing with Saskia?”

The noise he made was incoherent and Saskia’s tinkling laughter blended beautifully with Anais’s high giggles and Boussy’s little snickers. 

“It’s nice to see Iorveth happy,” Saskia said, and Roche suddenly had trouble breathing.

“I’m – I mean, that’s not–”

“Because of you?” She shook her head, “no, it most definitely is. There has been a lot on his plate lately, but I have seen him when he is depressed, and I’ve seen him when he’s hopeful, and I’ve seen him when he’s happy. And when he talks about you, he’s happy.”

“Oh.” His head was spinning and he felt a little like he was in a tunnel, everything narrowed down to the point in front of him. “He...talks about–? I mean–”

Saskia laughed again. “Iorveth has been a close advisor since we decided to build this Free Pontar Valley together. The way he talked about you originally was already quite informative, but since you appeared in Vergen during the battle?” She smiled fondly, “it’s a good thing. I think it’s been a long time since Iorveth has had something outside of the Scoia’tael, and…”

“And they’re having their own problems right now,” Roche finished, nodding his head. “Doesn’t it bother you? To know that a lot of them are mad at Iorveth because he chose to follow you?”

She shook her head somberly, “but that’s not truly why they’re mad, is it? Prejudice is not bound to any one species, and we all have much of it that must be overcome. I hope that in time, they can learn that people are people, no matter their race.”

Roche hummed. “I mean, seems to have worked here, at least some. And–” he shook his head, “I am amazed at how...well, how different both me and my people, but also the Scoia’tael that traveled with us are, compared to the start. I mean, we’re – we’ve been enemies for so long. But we weren’t really...I mean, they weren’t _people,_ you know? They were just...elves. Scoia'tael. Enemies. And then suddenly they weren’t anymore and now I know things like that Rinn doesn’t speak around people and Taredd plays the harp and likes swing music and Sylvar is an asshole, but honestly, he and Ves are a lot alike and if they didn’t hate each other, they could probably make the most terrifyingly effective team together. And Iorveth – well.” He cleared his throat. “I don’t know what to do with all that. With...knowing that.”

Anais’s elbow dug into his skull and he abruptly remembered that the children were here, most definitely listening to him, and he didn’t know much about parenting, but were you supposed to admit to not knowing shit in front of them?

Well, too late now. But Anais didn’t do or say anything other than plopping her chin in her hand and twisting some of his hair with the other hand.

Saskia patted his hand. “Change is scary. When a lot of it happens at once – good _or_ bad – it can be traumatic and realizing that things you believed were fact may actually be false is exhausting. Let yourself have time – time to think, but also time _not_ to think. Give yourself some grace to adjust.”

“I don’t want grace, I want Ior–” he cut himself off with a clack of teeth and stared wide-eyed as he realized what he’d been about to say. “Um, that is…”

Saskia just smiled. “The two don’t need to be mutually exclusive. Part of taking care of yourself is knowing when you need to lean on someone else’s support. And I would say with all that each of you have been through recently, you could both use some of that support.”

“Yeah,” Roche croaked, mouth dry. “I – you really think he – _because_ of – I mean.”

She held up a hand, thankfully cutting off his stammer. “Yes, yes I do. But if you find it hard to believe, just ask the little ones. Boussy,” she poked him lightly and the boy jerked awake with a grunt. “Boussy, what do you think of your Uncle Roche and Iorveth?”

Boussy blinked at her blearily for long moments before shrugging. “They’re married like Mama and Papa were. But better, ‘cause Papa was gone a lot.” He yawned, “is the meeting done? Can we go back to bed?”

“How are you still tired, dum dum?” Anais said. “I dunno how you went from talking about Yor-veth to squirrels and change and elves, but he looks at you the same way Mama looks at Papa.”

Roche blinked. Was that good or bad? Louisa and Foltest had had a rather tumultuous relationship, especially at the end. 

Then again, tumultuous was definitely a word that could be applied to Iorveth and Roche.

“Don’t call your brother a dum dum, Anais,” he scolded absently, mulling over what other words could describe them.

“If we’re not going to bed, can we go to the forge? I wanna learn the glass thing!” Boussy said.

“That’s a great idea, Boussy.” Saskia cocked an eyebrow at Roche, “I imagine there are things you planned to do today. As the children and I are going to be working closely together in the near future, why don’t I take over for you and see about getting a master to show Boussy glassblowing?”

“That would be wonderful.” Roche squeezed Anais’s ankle to show that he didn’t mean it would be wonderful to be rid of _them._ “Could you work with Brigida on their schedule too, actually? Since you’ve got a vision for what working together will entail.”

“Of course. Is Brigida waiting outside? Go ahead on your way, and you can send her in. Is that all right with you two?”

“Fiiiiine, I guess you can let me down now,” Anais responded and Roche was laughing when he pulled her down and placed her on her feet. 

“Be good for Saskia, hmm?” he ruffled her hair and smiled at Boussy, who grinned back.

“We will be.”

“Go do your kissy thing,” Anais dismissed with all the airs of a queen.

Roche choked slightly, but he wasn’t sure whether it was on embarrassment or laughter. Still, he turned to follow orders.

“Try the hanging gardens,” Saskia called just before he opened the door. He nodded the slightest amount, stepping out into the corridor where Brigida stood waiting.

“Finally done?”

Because Brigida was a saint, she held out another cup of coffee for him. It was lukewarm, but he hardly cared as he immediately took a few large swallows. 

Closing his eyes to savor the taste and the caffeine rush, he said, “Saskia is gonna look after them for a while. Could you go over the kids’ schedule together?”

“Sure,” Brigida shrugged. “Where are you gonna go?”

He licked his lips, thinking about it. “I think I might go to the market first.”

“Oh, good! I made a list,” she brandished a small triangle of ripped parchment that had even smaller writing on it.

“Seriously?”

“You might also want to buy some parchment,” she chuckled. “See you later?”

“Yeah. I want to give the Blue Stripes the evening together, but I’ll stop in to see the kids before then.”

She nodded and disappeared through the door into the council chamber. Roche squinted down at her shopping list and suddenly realized he had absolutely no idea how to get to the market from here.

...he was going to have to ride the train again, wasn’t he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fam, I did some planning and this thing is gonna be AT LEAST like 27 chapters. I don't know how, I don't know why, but I do hope it doesn't add another subplot on me again.


	16. Arc 2: Gardens and Stripes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roche spends some time with Iorveth and with the Blue Stripes

Saskia had been right. Not only was Iorveth at the hanging gardens, but there was a soft melody in the air, mixing in with the refreshing scent of soil. Roche followed his ears, and as he wandered, he could almost swear that he’d heard Iorveth’s song before. 

He listened closely, and it was only once he could see Iorveth sitting on a bench in front of a wall of flowering ivy that he placed it.

“You played that when we met,” he announced himself, “er, officially, that is.”

Iorveth finished the tune and lowered his flute. _“Stella splendens._ Splendid Star. I play it often, though it’s not really meant to be played alone.”

“Oh?” Roche’s brow knit. He didn’t honestly know a lot about music, though he enjoyed it as much as the next person. But how could a song not be meant to play alone?

Iorveth shook his head. “It’s an old elven song, but it’s meant to be played by a community. Each person has a different part and only when they’re all brought together can the song sound as it’s meant to.”

Roche blinked. “So...why play it then?”

Iorveth’s smile was small and sad. “It’s the only part I can remember. I was learning it to play with a symphony when the Conjunction of the Spheres happened.”

“Oh,” he said awkwardly. Fuck, here Iorveth was _confiding_ in him and _sharing_ with him and all he could say was oh? He grasped desperately for anything else to say, but his exhausted mind couldn’t seem to offer up more than static.

Iorveth tilted his head, looking at Roche. “Sit down,” Iorveth said. “You look like you’re about to fall over again.”

“You’re saying that a lot lately,” Roche mumbled, but he did plop down next to Iorveth.

Iorveth snorted. “Maybe I should take it as a compliment. Keep swooning in my presence?”

Roche scoffed, “oh please. If anyone here has done any swooning lately, it is not me!”

“Falling in battle is _not_ swooning.”

“If it looks like a duck and talks like a duck...”

“If you’re expecting me to quack like a duck, you will be greatly disappointed.”

“I dunno,” Roche grinned, “I’ve been quite pleased with the noises I’ve managed to draw out so far.”

Iorveth’s ears flushed red. “Have you now?” he murmured.

Roche let his eyes fall half-mast, dragging a hot gaze down Iorveth’s body and back up again. Iorveth’s cheeks were dusted with pink now, but the elf met his gaze squarely. 

“I have,” Roche licked his lips and debated with himself before swallowing and saying seriously, “the music you make is beautiful. With your instrument and without it.”

“Oh,” Iorveth said dumbly, face and ears a matching crimson now.

He looked delectable. And weirdly cute, but it was best not to think things like ‘cute’ about a man who Roche had personally seen kill someone with his calves. Somehow.

Roche traced his eyes over those shapely calves and honestly, what a way to go. 

“Vernon,” Iorveth murmured, voice gravelly and deep.

“Yeah?” Roche breathed, bringing his gaze back to Iorveth’s face and admiring that sharp jawline, that firm mouth more used to frowning than smiling, that eye that held such ferocity that many an individual had surrendered before Iorveth’s glare alone.

Iorveth’s tongue flicked out to wet his lips, and Roche found himself unconsciously learning forward.

“Not here,” Iorveth whispered and the words hit Roche like a bucket of cold water.

Right. They were currently in public, even though no one was around. They were in public and as long as there were possible eyes on them, they needed to be Vernon Roche and Iorveth, enemies-cum-reluctant-allies. And enemies-cum-reluctant-allies did not kiss each other longingly in the hanging gardens, did not find out what the other tasted like in a room saturated with light floral scents.

Roche cleared his throat. “Sorry.”

Iorveth’s hand curled and flexed, and the elf’s eye darted around, looking for something. Checking if Roche’s carelessness had been witnessed, maybe. Roche berated himself internally, something sour squirming in his stomach.

“C’mere,” Iorveth murmured, and Roche blinked in confusion as Iorveth tucked away his flute and rose to walk along the wall of ivy behind them. Then Iorveth apparently found what he was looking for, and nimble fingers pulled aside a curtain of ivy to reveal a small alcove, no bigger than a broom closet.

It could’ve been the size of a locker and Roche wouldn’t have minded as he realized exactly what Iorveth was doing. Iorveth wasn’t angry at Roche’s incompetence at all – he wanted a taste just as badly as Roche did.

Roche scrambled to his feet and followed Iorveth, squeezing into the alcove next to him until their chests pressed together with every breath they took. He breathed in Iorveth’s air and gloried in the upward curve of lips that were slowly getting more used to smiles. The skin around Iorveth’s eye was wrinkled in a true smile and the sunshine building in Roche’s chest was making it hard to breathe.

“Well?” Iorveth challenged with a tilt of his head, and Roche was powerless to stop himself from leaning forward and pressing his mouth first to those creases next to Iorveth’s eye, then to the corner of Iorveth’s lips, where his cheeks scrunched in a dimple. Iorveth huffed a laugh against him and turned to bring their mouths properly together, sucking on his bottom lip.

Roche melted into the kiss, pressing even closer until there was no space between them. His fingers pulled Iorveth’s bandana away and cupped Iorveth’s face, tugging as if it were possible to move closer. He slid his leg between Iorveth’s and backed him up the half–step it took to hit the wall. 

Iorveth moaned softly against him, arms wrapping around his waist and pulling him even further against Iorveth. 

What was it about Iorveth’s kisses that left his mind spinning and his hands sweaty and every part of him yearning for more? He tilted Iorveth’s chin and fucked his tongue into Iorveth’s mouth, enjoying the low sigh Iorveth let out. 

“Mmm, I could kiss you forever,” Roche whispered against the skin of Iorveth’s cheek, peppering kisses across his face. 

“You should,” Iorveth chuckled. His thumb came up to stroke across Roche’s bottom lip. “To have your mouth ever at my disposal would be quite a treat.”

Roche snorted, sucking the thumb into his mouth and flicking his tongue over the tip just to tease Iorveth.

Iorveth swallowed, his breath coming fast as it puffed across Roche’s face. “I want–”

“Mm?” Roche hummed around the thumb in his mouth.

“Too much,” Iorveth admitted. “Anything and everything.”

“So let’s do it all.”

Iorveth huffed, “you know what I mean.”

“I do,” Roche released Iorveth’s thumb and cupped his cheeks to meet his eye with a serious gaze. “I mean it. Let’s do it all. This is meant to be a land free of prejudice, right?”

Iorveth’s eyebrow arched and they were still so close that Roche could see the speckles in the green of his eye. 

“Somehow I don’t think either of our peoples will interpret that _this_ way.”

“Okay, so we’re hardly gonna be shouting about it from the rooftops. That’s not really either of our styles, anyway,” Roche shrugged and licked his lips. “We’re building a new world here. Why can’t that new world involve kissing in the gardens?” He closed his eyes and shook his head, leaning it against Iorveth’s, “I know why, I do. I just–”

“Yeah,” Iorveth tapped their noses together. “Saskia wants to find me a house, but I–” Iorveth bit his lip, hesitating, and Roche stroked his thumb across Iorveth’s cheek. “You’re building a life with Anais and Boussy and I want to be part of it. But I can’t.”

“Says who? Yeah, maybe we can’t live together right now, but why can’t you be part of that life? _I_ want you there, and Boussy adores Rinn and if he gets his elf then so do I, dammit.”

_“Your_ elf?” Iorveth snorted, and though his tone sounded vaguely offended, he didn’t pull away from Roche in the slightest, their foreheads still pressed together. 

Roche’s lips quirked, “aren’t you, though? My enemy, my opposite, my lover.” 

Iorveth’s breath hitched, just the slightest amount, but they were close enough that Roche could hear it, could feel the stuttered exhale against his mouth. 

“If anything, you’re _my_ human,” Iorveth managed and Roche just laughed.

“I can live with that.”

Iorveth’s eyebrow arched perfectly, “can you?”

“I would like to,” he whispered. “Saskia and Brigida are going over the kids’ schedules.” Iorveth made a small confused sound, but Roche ignored it and continued, “we included Elder lessons in the plan for them, if you’re still willing.” Iorveth nodded silently against him. “Saskia and the kids already know. If I can tell Brigida without it being a whole thing,” he huffed and brushed their lips together again. “I want to be able to do this with you whenever.”

Iorveth laughed, a quick breath of amusement. “Maybe not _this_ precisely,” Iorveth corrected and tilted Roche’s head to kiss him properly.

Roche’s lips kept trying to curl into a smile, which was making things rather difficult, but Iorveth just shifted to suck across his jaw instead. “Not in front of the children,” he agreed. “But if you’re getting a house soon, then that means a bed and privacy. And apparently stone soundproofs very well.”

Iorveth hummed, nipping at the corner of his jaw and nosing down his neck. “I believe you promised something about beds and being naked last time.”

“Imagine not having to deal with all this armor,” he said with feeling as his fingers skated against Iorveth’s mail. “We really wear far too much of it.”

“Mmm, we’ll just have to make do for now.”

The intent in Iorveth’s voice sent a shiver down his spine.

“And how will we be making do?” Roche murmured, his voice low and deep. 

“Mmm,” Iorveth hummed, sucking a mark on his neck. “Want too much, can’t decide.”

Roche chuckled in delight. When was the last time someone had so transparently and openly _wanted_ him? It made him feel warm and special, and knowing that _Iorveth_ wanted him had his blood running hot.

“How about this,” he whispered into Iorveth’s ear. “You decide where you want my mouth, and I’ll take care of the rest.”

Iorveth made a discontent noise, biting him. “How am I supposed to choose?” Roche grinned, then licked a stripe up Iorveth’s ear. “Yeah, okay, decided.” Iorveth tilted his head to let Roche properly suck on his ear and Roche tongued the tip, drawing a whine that Iorveth muffled against his neck.

“Turn ‘round,” Roche murmured, picturing exactly how he wanted Iorveth. “And get your hose down.”

Iorveth moved quickly enough that his shoulder smacked into Roche’s chest, but the slight ache was more than worth the view of Iorveth pushing his hose down and bending forward slightly to lean against the wall with his armor bunched around his waist. Roche pushed his own hose down far enough to expose his cock and stepped up close behind Iorveth, until he could grind against Iorveth’s would-be-more-plush-if-Iorveth-ate-more ass and brush teasingly over Iorveth’s dripping wet cunt.

Iorveth shuddered, pushing back against him. “Come on,” the elf whined, tilting his hips to try to get Roche inside him.

“Ah ah,” Roche tutted, rocking back and forth so that the length of his cock dragged across Iorveth’s folds. “We have to be quiet, remember?” Iorveth growled and Roche _had_ to lean forward and feel that growl against his tongue. “Fuck,” he whispered against Iorveth’s neck, “you’re so wet already, just from this.”

Iorveth squirmed his hips. “Fucking get inside me already, you bastard.”

“Mmm, and miss hearing the way you beg?”

“I am _not_ begging,” Iorveth huffed and squeezed his thighs together around Roche’s cock. 

“No?” He chuckled and reached around to stroke Iorveth’s cock. “I’m quite sure I could make you.” Iorveth made a small incoherent noise, bucking into his hand. “But I suppose I can save that for when I have you spread out and naked in a bed.”

“Gods, fuck, _Vernon,”_ Iorveth hissed and Roche finally took pity, using his boots to nudge Iorveth’s legs apart again. Iorveth shifted eagerly, arching forward and tilting his hips, and finally, Roche was sinking inside him.

Iorveth’s shuddering moan was loud, so it was only natural to bring a hand up to cover his mouth. Iorveth’s head tilted back with the touch and his back arched as a frantic hand reached back to grasp to Roche’s hip, not trying to stop his thrusts, but simply hanging on. 

“Oh,” Roche hummed lowly, “you like that, hmm? Is it me silencing you or manhandling you? Because that I can definitely do.” So saying, he pulled Iorveth further upright and pushed them forward until Iorveth was entirely trapped with his chest against the wall and Roche directly behind him.

Iorveth whimpered and Roche chuckled against his ear. “Aren’t you full of surprises, darling?” Iorveth breathed in sharply through his nose, his eyes widening even as his body leaned back against Roche’s. Roche licked the shell of his ear, nibbling along the outer edge and Iorveth jerked, panting against the hand the covered his mouth and making absolutely no attempt to remove it. “You like being under my control?”

Iorveth’s body twitched with a shudder, only getting wetter as he clenched around Roche.

“Mmm, the things I could do with you,” he spoke the words into Iorveth’s ear, hot breath over wet skin. The noise Iorveth made was muffled by his hand, and Roche watched the way Iorveth’s eye fluttered closed, the way Iorveth relaxed further into his hold.

It made sense. Iorveth was dealing with a schism amongst his ranks, a harsh blow to any leader. When he was out there, Iorveth was probably in commander mode 24/7, but here, here Roche could take control and Iorveth _trusted him_ to do so.

He swallowed around the lump in his throat, suddenly feeling unreasonably close to tears. What had he possibly done to earn such trust from Iorveth? How could he ever be worthy of holding it?

But even if it was impossible, he would try his damnedest to live up to that trust, to try to be worthy of it

He licked his lips and tilted Iorveth’s chin so that he could kiss the elf deeply, pouring his gratefulness into it, but also using it to ground himself. Iorveth needed this and trusted him to be able to provide it. Roche would do his very best to give it to him. 

Iorveth was whining slightly with every breath by the time Roche released him, and Roche took in his swollen red lips and hazy green eye with pride before covering his mouth again.

“That’s right, darling. You want to know what I’ll do with you in my control?” Roche licked up Iorveth ear again. “Want to know all the ways I’d take you apart? Mmmm, just think how lovely you’d look all tied up and mine to do what I like with.” Iorveth made a soft sound against his hand and he sucked on the tip of Iorveth’s ear for a long moment, until Iorveth was writhing against him. “I’d make sure you’re always wet, always ready for me at any time. And I’d take what I want of you – your mouth, your cock, your cunt, your ass – until you’ve given me everything you can. But you like it when it’s too much, don’t you? I could keep going and you’d beg me for more.”

Iorveth shuddered wildly, tears dripping down from the corner of his eye. He couldn’t speak, but one hand still insistently pulled Roche against him, asking for more.

“Just imagine the ropes I could tie you up with, truss you up until you’re covered, pretty red ropes next to your pretty pink blush, hmm? I could splay you out across the bed, take my time examining how my marks look next to the rope. Gods, to finally get my mouth on you, all of you,” Roche cut his own moan off by sucking Iorveth’s ear into his mouth.

“I could learn how many times you can come just from my mouth on your ears, hear all the sounds you make when falling apart. Could learn to play you as well as you play that flute until I know exactly how to make you sing,” he murmured, his hips thrusting short and fast into Iorveth. 

Iorveth’s body was lax, tense muscles finally relaxing and unwinding in a way Roche was sure the Scoia’tael Commander rarely allowed, and it hit him again just what a privilege it was, to hold this man’s trust. To be someone that Iorveth _wanted_ to have take control over him.

Iorveth clenched around him rhythmically and Iorveth’s cunt was so wet that friction was almost difficult, but there was nowhere Roche would rather be, though he wished it was possible to get his mouth on Iorveth’s cunt while he fucked into the elf. Iorveth’s breath puffed over the hand he had across Iorveth’s face, slow and steady the more Iorveth slipped into a state of relaxation, the more Iorveth gave up control. 

Roche doubted Iorveth could still understand his words, but he couldn’t seem to stop mumbling against Iorveth’s ear, “fuck, you’re gorgeous, darling. Never would’ve thought I could have this, have _you.”_ He kissed Iorveth’s cheek and neck, wishing again that he could leave a mark. And he _could,_ just not anywhere visible. 

Did the back of Iorveth’s neck count as visible? He would have to check later. For now, he bit Iorveth’s skin light enough not to mark, but hard enough to be felt, and Iorveth writhed against him.

“That’s right, darling, you’re doing so good,” Roche whispered, moving back up to suck on Iorveth’s ear. 

There was something intoxicating about bringing Iorveth to this state, where only Roche’s arms held him up as he undulated under the onslaught of pleasure. Iorveth, who was so in control every moment of every day; Iorveth, who planned the minute details of a strategy until Roche had to struggle to find openings; Iorveth, who was notorious for his hatred and ruthlessness against humans – that same elf was here now, _trusting_ Roche to keep him safe and bring him pleasure.

Roche was so focused on Iorveth that his own body’s pleasure caught him by surprise, surging through him like a wave and he barely had the sense of mind to wrap his lips around Iorveth’s ear to muffle the noises he made.

Iorveth sighed against Roche’s hand as Roche came inside him, long and satisfied and content, body shivering as his cunt pulsated around Roche, dripping wetness down Iorveth’s legs. 

“That’s it, darling, just like that,” Roche found himself murmuring even as his hips rolled through the last few pulses of orgasm. “So good for me, Iorveth, always so good.”

Roche held Iorveth against him, kissing the tears away from the elf’s face as he waited for Iorveth to come back to himself. It was difficult to clean up in the little alcove they were in, and his poor chaperon had to be sacrificed again, but Roche leaned back against the wall, holding Iorveth against him and just enjoyed the closeness while Iorveth floated. He carded his fingers through Iorveth’s hair and stroked down Iorveth’s face and throat, savouring the moment and turning his head to press a soft kiss against Iorveth’s brow.

Finally, Iorveth made a small sound and his eyes fluttered open, still slightly unfocused, but more aware now.

“Hey, darling, you back with me?” Iorveth grunted and one of his hands came up to clasp Roche’s. Roche squeezed, “good. You ready to go back out, or wanna stay here for a while?”

Iorveth hummed, twisting around so that he could bury his face in Roche’s neck. Roche let him move, adjusting his own hold and when Iorveth was settled, he resumed stroking through the elf’s hair. 

They stayed like that for a long time, just leaning against each other in silence and savouring the comfort that was offered.

* * *

It was late afternoon by the time Roche left the hanging gardens and he made his way back towards the council chambers, wondering if the kids would be here or back at home already. The council chambers themselves were empty, but Roche was able to ask one of the passing dwarves where he could find Saskia and was led to her office, a few doors down.

He knocked on the door and waited for her answering call to step inside. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you. Just checking if the kids are still here.”

“Brigida took them home when they started getting tired, not too long ago,” Saskia said, “but before you go, I wanted to say – Iorveth officially has a house now, right next to the hanging gardens.”

“Oh,” Roche could feel his ears growing warm. “Uh, that was fast.”

Saskia laughed, “not fast enough, for the Hero of the Battle of Vergen. Iorveth will have to earn respect for himself, but his timely arrival during the battle has reminded many why it’s good that he’s on our side.”

“Ah yeah, Zoltan said his archers changed the course of the battle.”

“Without them, we would likely have lost,” Saskia said solemnly. “I’m going to head to the gardens in a bit to let him know about his new lodgings.”

He nodded, “follow the music.” A thought occurred to him and he hesitated, but really, Saskia already knew, so what was the harm? “Have you heard of a song, uh, _Stella Splendens?”_

“Splendid Star? Hmm, I don’t think I have, sorry. Is there something about it?”

“Ah no, it’s silly,” Roche dismissed, already berating himself for bringing it up.

Saskia arched a perfect eyebrow and stared him down.

“It’s – Iorveth was playing it. But apparently what he was playing is only one part of a bigger piece? I think? I was just wondering if – I dunno, if anyone knows the other parts or has sheet music or something.”

“Hmm. You might ask Cecil Burdon or Luka Harren, the library archivist. Actually, I was meaning to ask you to connect with them. With Nilfgaard’s invasion on the horizon, I’d like to look at anything that might help us in facing them. Not just battle strategies, but more...hmm, trade agreements, their imports and exports, things like that.”

“I’ll take a look,” Roche nodded. 

“Thank you,” Saskia smiled at him, and he found himself smiling back without even realizing it.

“I’d better go check on the children,” he inclined his head to her, and then headed back down to the train station. The trip was going to be a nightmare, but he was fairly certain he could remember which stop to get off at. If he walked, he would almost certainly get lost.

He got lost anyway, but did eventually find his way to the market in Rhundurin Square and from there, he knew how to get home. 

Home. Wasn’t that an odd way to think of this place he’d spent one night? But somehow, while this strange city was unfamiliar and intimidating, it _was_ home now. Or, in truth, the people who made it home were here, and just a short time ago, who would have thought he’d consider Iorveth top amongst that number?

Roche shook his head and opened the door. “I’m back,” he called and was startled when an sixty pound kid immediately rammed into him, knocking him breathless. “Missed me, huh?”

“You were gone _all day,”_ Anais complained. 

“But you had fun with Saskia and Brigida?”

“That’s not the _point!”_ she whined and Boussy rolled his eyes.

“She’s just upset because I got an awesome glassblowing master and she’s got nothing.”

“Boussy, that’s not very nice,” Brigida scolded, at the same time that Anais stuck her tongue out at her brother.

“I don’t _want_ any stupid master. Besides, Uncle Roche is gonna teach me to fight, right?”

“I’ll teach you _both_ to fight. At least the basics,” Roche clarified. 

“I wanna throw knives like you!” Anais bounced beside him as he moved further into their room. 

“Let’s start with throwing punches, huh? We’ll work our way up.”

Anais pouted, and Brigida laughed. “Have you eaten yet? I was about to make dinner.”

“Oh, I can do it,” he volunteered. “I’m gonna spend the evening with the Stripes, and that usually goes better when I feed them.”

“What, you don’t think they’re getting their own dinner?” Brigida raised an eyebrow, but happily bowed out of the way to let him into the kitchen. 

“Oh no, they probably are. They’ll just also eat this,” Roche chuckled. “Do you know how hard it is to maintain rations for 8 men who can eat enough for a full army camp?”

Brigida shook her head, “you and those soldiers. Everyone in court gossiped about how you recruited all the fuck ups, you know.”

“Recruited and got the job done, thank you very much. We’re still the best unit in existence,” he grinned proudly.

“Best at what?” Anais piped up.

“Uh…” Best at killing would _not_ be a good answer, would it?

“Yeah, Vernon, best at _what?”_ Brigida mocked playfully.

“Well,” he hedged, “uh, doing whatever the King needs, really.”

“Like what?” Boussy asked.

“Like...well! Saskia, for example, needs some information. So, those kinds of things.”

Brigida gave him a judging look for his pathetic answer, but let him get away with it. “You kids wanna help us peel potatoes?” she asked.

“Eh,” Anais shrugged, but took the potato and peeler Brigida passed her and got to work. Boussy said nothing, just set aside his toys and rose to join them in the kitchen.

“Brigida!” he hissed as the children quickly turned peeling potatoes into a competition, “they’re _royalty!”_

“So?” Brigida shrugged, “Saskia says we want everyone to be equal here. Equal means everyone helps cook, right?”

“I...guess,” he muttered, frowning. It felt weird, to see _Foltest’s children_ peeling potatoes in their little kitchen. Foltest had most certainly never peeled a potato in his life and would probably have been proud of that fact, had it ever been brought up. That was just the way it was – some people did the menial work, and some people didn’t, and Roche was the lucky one to be somewhere in between, given both the labor and the rewards of it, on occasion. 

He wondered what Foltest would think of things now – Roche raising his children in a dwarven city while actively conspiring to bring an elf closer to them. 

With a gasp, he realized he’d cut his finger slicing the meat and cursed himself for his carelessness. He was a master knife thrower. He should know better than to let his attention wander with a knife at hand.

“Ooooh, that looks bad,” Anais grimaced dramatically.

“You okay?” Brigida asked.

“Yeah, sorry, just thinking,” he wrapped his finger and moved towards the water pitcher, carefully rinsing the wound. Fortunately, it wasn’t deep, so he was mostly just annoyed with himself, but even as he put pressure on it to slow the bleeding and wrapped it, he couldn’t seem to pull his thoughts away from the fact that Foltest would disapprove of everything he had done, even though he was doing it _for_ Foltest, for Temeria. 

Everything Roche did was for Foltest and Temeria. The two were – well, not the same, but also kind of the same? And Roche’s entire life had revolved around serving Foltest, and thereby serving Temeria for – fuck, thirty years, probably. 

But Foltest was dead now. 

And Roche was sleeping with the elf who helped make that happen. 

It felt difficult to breathe suddenly, and he had to dig his fingernails into his palms just to keep his thoughts from spiraling. He couldn’t – he couldn’t think about that. Not right now. Anais and Boussy needed him. Saskia needed him. _Iorveth_ needed him. 

He couldn’t think about the holes in the logic that had led him here, couldn’t think about what Foltest would think of him now.

A touch against the back of his hand startled him and he jerked around to see Boussy looking up at him with concerned blue eyes. Boussy didn’t say anything, but silently held out a handkerchief and Roche suddenly realized he was crying.

“Oh,” he cleared his throat, taking the hanky and blowing his nose. “Thank you.”

“Okay?” Boussy asked. Then his eyes lit up with an idea, and he held up one finger, then darted over to where he’d been playing earlier.

Roche blinked after him, but before long, Boussy was returning holding a stuffed wyvern. The boy offered the toy to him and the sudden upswell of emotion had Roche struggling to swallow around the lump in his throat.

“Thank you, Boussy,” he knelt down, holding the green wyvern close. “I – can I hug you?”

Boussy nodded and held his arms out. Roche pulled him close, burying his face in Boussy’s hair and reminding himself that these children had _chosen_ him as family.

“Hug time!” Anais screeched and launched herself at them with enough force to knock them over. 

Roche found himself laughing, two children settled against his chest and grinning triumphantly at each other. “All right, rascals,” he chuckled, “let’s make dinner.” He tucked the wyvern aside so that it wouldn’t get trampled, and nudged them to get up.

They giggled, but obediently rose and returned to the kitchen where Brigida set them to chopping onions with a smile.

Roche washed his face and returned to the kitchen, leading the preparation of a hearty beef and potato stew. 

“Are you sure you won’t have leftovers?” Brigida asked dubious after he added the thirtieth potato.

“Pillow Tits is a bottomless chasm,” he shrugged. “Besides, they get the munchies.”

Brigida shook her head and turned away, but she was smiling. “Well, there will certainly be enough for them. I thought you were buying supplies for the week, not the day.”

Roche chuckled, “at least we’re close to the market?”

“Just don’t get drunk and spend all your coin.”

He faked offense, “I would _never–”_

“Geralt told us how he got that tattoo.”

“Yeah, okay, leave the coin pouch here. Fair enough.”

They finished preparing the stew and started it simmering, then retreated to the table the room had been supplied with.

“So, what did you get up to today with Saskia?” Roche asked and both children perked up, talking over each other.

“I got a glassmaking master! Saskia said we can make it work so I can apprentice with both of them for a little bit!” Boussy bounced in his seat as he spoke.

“We got to go to Rhundurin Square and see all the shops and they were selling such cool stuff and because Saskia was with us, everyone was super interested in us and we got to meet lots of people and we went to this toy booth and they let us choose a toy each! I got a white wolf! His name is Geralt,” Anais chattered excitedly, reaching down to show off her toy.

Roche, who was not at all prepared for the barrage of information, blinked. “Uh – wait, you named the toy Geralt?”

“Yup!” Anais grinned. 

“I – okay, sure, why not? And Boussy, that’s wonderful! So, what does tomorrow’s schedule look like?”

“Lessons in the morning,” Brigida said, “Saskia wants they to attend the dwarven school, to show that human children are welcome and encouraged to attend their local schools. But…”

“What?”

“Dwarves apparently teach in both Elder and Common. Together. They won’t understand half of what’s being said.”

“Well, we put Elder Speech lessons on the list, so maybe we just do a quick crash course and then see if the teacher is willing to work with us until they’re caught up?”

“Why would they?” Brigida asked quietly, checking to see that the children had occupied themselves with some sort of hand game. “People were pleasant when Saskia was around, but I heard the whispers. No one wants the Temerian royalty here.”

Roche bit his lip. “Okay. So we be careful. When they’re not with Saskia, keep one of the Stripes with you. But it can’t hurt to ask, right? Worst they can do is say no, in which case we...I dunno, find tutors or teach them ourselves until they’re caught up.”

Brigida pursed her lips. “You’re really dedicated to this whole let’s-all-be-friends thing, aren’t you? Working with the Scoia’tael, wanting the kids to learn Elder Speech, wanting to send them to a dwarven school...you do remember who they are, right? Whose children they are? You can try as much as you want to teach them to get along with others, but do you really think the other kids will do so?”

“That’s why we’re careful.” He met her gaze seriously, “I think you’re underestimating how much Saskia’s word counts for protection.”

“Protection, sure! So they won’t stone them. But that doesn’t mean they’ll be friendly. Kids can be cruel, Vernon, you should know that. These two need to make _friends. Human_ friends, one we can know won’t use who they are against them.”

“And you really think by merit of being human that they _won’t?_ As if our birth status has never been used against us? C’mon, Brigida, I get what you’re saying, I _do._ But let’s not gather trouble before it’s upon us, huh? If something like that happens, we deal with it then.”

“No,” Brigida said, and got up to check the stew, hissing in his ear as she passed, _“I_ deal with it then. Because I’m the one that’s _there._ You get to be off with your Stripes, but in the moment, _I’m_ the one that has to deal with it!”

Roche sighed, dragging a hand down his face and remembering as he did so that he’d never put his chaperon back on, since it had been sacrificed for clean up purposes. He’d have to stop by the market and get a new one. 

He got up and grabbed the bowls, holding them for her as she dished out the stew. “All right, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to minimize your concerns. I think their reception will probably be about what’d be like for a noble kid at our school growing up.”

“Our school was Nana’s living room.”

“Exactly. They’ll probably be polite, maybe a little scared, maybe some will be vocal assholes, maybe some will be silent. But this time instead of it being about who is nobleborn and who isn’t, it’ll be about who their father is. And yes, probably some about them being human, too. And you’ll handle it exactly the way you would if they were going to a school in Lower Vizima – call for the guard if it looks like it’ll get violent and otherwise try to de-escalate.” 

“You know, when you offered this job, I didn’t think it’d be permanent.”

His breath caught at the thought of losing the one person who actually knew what to do with children. “I mean – of course you can choose – I guess we’ll have to figure out pay…”

She shook her head at him. “You really are hopeless, aren’t you? How have you survived this long?”

“I’m very good at what I do,” he shrugged meekly.

“Well, you can relax. I’m not planning on going anywhere for the time being. Those children deserve some permanence in their lives. And it’s not like I’ve much to go back to in Vizima,” he mouth twisted. “But you’re lucky Saskia is actually an adult who does things like thinking ahead and planning.”

“Hey, I plan! Just...not this stuff.”

She shook her head at him again as he brought two bowls over to the table. “Saskia took care of my pay. She says I’m to be employed by the state.”

“Oh. Good.” He walked back to her, frowning in surprise. “Wow, she really is dedicated to seeing them as...well, as apprentices. People she’s responsible for.”

“It’s more than that,” Brigida shook her head. “She didn’t say it directly or anything, but I get the sense she _knows_ that sooner or later, people are gonna start expecting her to marry and pop out heirs. But if she already has potential heirs…”

Roche gaped. “You – you really think? I mean, we’re talking about inheriting a _kingdom_ here, Brigida.”

“So? She wants them to help build it, why _not_ trust them with it? Worst case, she flirts the idea around in the right ears and never makes it official in case she later decides to marry and have kids. But even so, they’d have a pretty strong claim to the throne already.”

“...That’s true. Wow, Saskia really did offer them a lot, didn’t she?”

“Is she too good to be true?” Brigida asked, biting her lip. “I _want_ to believe in her, Vernon. She seems literally perfect. But nobody’s perfect.”

“Well, we don’t really know her yet,” he shrugged. “Probably flaws we’ll notice as time goes on, like with anyone else.”

“You believe in her that surely?”

“I…” he licked his lips. “I believe in someone who believes in her. And...yeah, I kind of do,” he realized. “I want her to be real. I want to believe someone can be that – that–”

“Good.”

“Yeah.”

They fell silent, and then Anais whispered very loudly to Boussy, “think we can go play now?”

Roche and Brigida both snorted, and finally moved to the table with their dinners. “If you’re done, you can go play. But you have to finish your food first, okay?”

“Fiiine.” Anais sighed dramatically. 

“Can we talk to Brigida about the kissy thing?” Boussy asked suddenly, and Brigida jolted up in surprise.

“Kissy thing?” She turned to Roche with an incredulous look on her face.

“Ah. Y’know what, the Blue Stripes are expecting me. I should go. Anais, I might not be back until morning. Will you be okay?”

Anais hunched her shoulders and pouted up at him. “Can you tell us a story first?”

“Are you ready to go to bed?” he asked in surprise.

“Will you stay until bed time?” she perked up and he realized the trap he’d walked himself into.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, but I really do need to go see my team.”

“Hold on, hold on,” Brigida held up her hand, _“what_ kissy thing?”

“We saw Uncle Roche kissing,” Boussy shrugged, as if it were no big deal.

Roche, who knew exactly how big of a deal it could end up being, coughed loudly to cut off any names the child might drop.

“Vernon,” Brigida turned a suspicious glare on him. “Who exactly have you been running around making out with in front of children?”

“I didn’t know they were there! Anyway, I really do need to go – promise we’ll talk about this another time,” _but like, hopefully not soon,_ he didn’t say.

Just because he _wanted_ to tell Brigida didn’t mean he wanted to do it _soon._ He honestly wasn’t sure what her reaction might be, but she certainly didn’t trust Iorveth not to be up to some mischief.

He stuffed the last few mouthfuls of stew in his mouth and went to the kitchen to grab the pot, then headed towards the door.

“All right, I’ll see you later,” he said.

“Wait,” Anais cried as the door started closing, “what about–” but the closed door cut her off and Roche winced guiltily. Hopefully Brigida could take care of whatever she needed, but he had a question to avoid and a team waiting for him.

Only then he was standing on the street, holding a heavy pot of stew and realizing he didn’t actually know which house belong to his team beyond “nearby”.

He cleared his throat awkwardly, shifting his weight as the Scoia’tael guards in front of Saskia’s house sent him judging looks. “Uh, d’you happen to know which house the Blue Stripes are in?”

The taller of the two elves, wearing a weird hat that had a strip of fabric hanging down in front of his nose, glanced at the other and then shrugged and pointed to a door.

“Thank you,” Roche nodded and knocked on the door.

“Weeeell, look who it is,” Ves said loudly the second she opened the door.

“Food!” Fenn yelled.

“We _just_ ate!” Silas pointed out.

“Hey, Bossman,” Finch waved.

“Hey, Finch,” Roche sighed, hauling the pot over to their little stove and quickly stepping out of the way as Fenn, Thirteen, and Pillow Tits immediately converged to refill their bowls. “Figured we could use a night of drinking. And knowing you, you’ve already got a still running here.”

Thirteen shot Roche his most innocent look, fluttering his eyes. Ves – who was actually the _real_ brewer hiding behind Thirteen’s drunken claims – just held out a flask.

“Ah, perfect.” He took a swig – and shuddered down to his soul. “Oh god, this is worse than the stuff you cooked up in Flotsam!”

“Eh, you’re just weak,” Ves dismissed, pouring herself a shot and downing it without a twitch.

Sometimes he forgot how inhumanly scary his second in command was.

“So...cards or dice?”

“Dice!” Fenn shouted loudly.

“No no, cards for sure,” Shorty, their resident card shark, argued.

“Pfft, none of us are dumb enough to lose our money to you,” Thirteen said between mouthfuls of stew.

“Thirteen, you literally lost your last 12 orens to him an hour ago,” Ves pointed out.

“My point exactly!”

“Dice it is,” Roche said loudly. “Now, what have you scoundrels gotten up to in the 12 hours you’ve been awake and without supervision. Ves and Pillow Tits don’t count.”

Silas gave him a wounded look. “We would never get up to mischief, sir!”

Finch wasn’t able to cover his snort at that and several of them burst into giggles.

“See, now I’m just worried,” Roche chewed on his lip. “Ves?”

“Mostly they’ve been losing at arm wrestling,” she shrugged. “I won, of course. The dwarves in Geralt’s acquaintance are...acceptably strong.”

He raised an eyebrow. That was high praise, from Ves. 

“Good to know.” He pulled up a chair at the table and Pillow Tits bought out a number of boards to roll the dice in. “All right, who’s my first challenger?”

“Rather throw knives,” Ves shrugged. 

Thirteen, always eager to follow to take after Ves’s bloodlust and bad decisions – and usually managing to make them _worse,_ somehow – grabbed a handful of knives and strode up next to her. “We could use the statue for target practice?”

“10 points for getting its creepy eyes,” Fenn judged. “20 if you nail the mouth dead on.”

“Didn’t you just get into trouble in the _last_ town with knifing religious statues?” Roche asked. “I seem to remember punching someone because of it.”

“Nah, that was ‘cause he said the word,” Finch said. “But that was a good punch. Also, 20 orens I win, Bossman.”

“You’re on,” Roche grinned, shrugging off his annoyance of the memory that Flotsam peasant who had called them whoresons. 

The clatter of knives rebounding off of stone melded into the background noise along with the chatter of his men and the jangle of dice being rolled, and Roche felt himself relaxing, letting himself just exist in this space with his team. They had needed this.

“I win,” he grinned after he’d rolled two sixes and two threes compared to Finch’s two twos.

“Damn.”

Unfortunately, as much as he wanted to pretend the rest of the world wasn’t happening, they did actually need to talk about it.

“So,” he cleared his throat as they rolled again. “Decided what you’ll do next?”

Finch shrugged. “Figure there’ll be plenty of work for us here.” Finch met his eyes with a half smile, “we told you, Bossman. You can’t break up with us.”

Roche chuckled, “fair enough. Anyone in Temeria you need to go back for?”

“Somehow I think the bartenders I owe money to will manage without me,” Finch shook his head.

“That’s ‘cause you never contacted the girl my wife suggested for you,” Shorty said knowledgeably.

“You hear back from Sofia yet?” Roche asked.

“She’s not _delighted_ about the move,” Shorty made a face, “traveling with 16 brats underfoot is bad enough without a war coming. But she’s tryina convince her sister to come, too, and before you know it, I’ll be stuck living with the whole extended family!”

“Hey, free babysitting.”

“Ugh,” Shorty groaned. “I hate my mother in law.”

“Silas, stop pacing and have a drink,” Roche called, reaching for the youngest of his commandos. Silas let himself be pulled into a chair and shot Roche a meek smile.

“Sorry, sir, I’m just – oh, I worry about Tabitha. Ma said she was going to talk her into at least _thinking_ about leaving, but with the coming war...what if she decides to _stay?_ You know how she is.”

Indeed, Silas’s seventh sister was rather an intimidating sort of woman. Not in appearance – she looked as dainty and demure as could be. But her personality – well, there was a reason that as a painter, she only deigned to work on “interesting” scenes – usually those that featured a great deal of blood and carnage.

She’d gifted Roche a painting in thanks for taking care of their baby brother. It was a 36x36 canvass with a detailed and gruesome re-imagining of the Pacification of the Mahakaman Foothills, an operation that Roche himself had led to eradicate the rebellious nonhumans from the area. He kind of loved it, even though he probably shouldn’t. His counterpart in the painting was standing atop a pile of bodies and holding a decapitated elven head in one hand. It was pretty badass.

“Well, the coming war will no doubt create some stark scenes to paint, but hopefully she knows how worried you’d be over her,” Roche soothed.

“I mentioned that in my letter! You know what she said? ‘Good. It’s your turn.’” Silas looked up at him with an agonized face.

“Well, maybe you can talk her into leaving in person. I assume you’ll want to go back to help your mother move.”

Silas nodded. “She and Meredith would _love_ the forges here! I hope they let humans work them.”

“If they don’t now, Saskia will make them before long, I’ve no doubt,” Roche reassured.

“They’d better. Ma never reacted well to people trying to stop her from crafting. She usually waves a hammer threateningly near someone’s kneecaps.”

“I remember,” Roche swallowed, thinking back to the first time Silas had invited his commander over for dinner. His mother had pulled Roche aside as soon as he’d arrived and assured him that if he didn’t take care of her boy, she _would_ find him.

Roche 100% believed her.

“Pillow Tits, what about you? Are you going to fetch your family?” 

Pillow Tits heaved a sigh. “I convinced my sister to leave, but my mother…She says Gors Velen would go to shit without her. And she’s probably right, darn it.”

“What does your mother do, again?” Roche asked. He’d never met the woman, though he vaguely recalled Pillow Tits referring to lessons she had taught him before. 

“Oh, she runs the local mafia,” PT shrugged, and Roche choked on his next swallow of alcohol. 

“Wait, what?” Silas blinked.

Pillow Tits nodded solemnly. “I was the odd one out, going into medicine. But they’ve gotten much better about first aid since I started teaching them! Mom says the infection rate has gone down significantly!”

“That’s...good.”

There was silence for a long moment – well, except for the clash of knives breaking against stone as Ves and Thirteen continued their ridiculous contest.

“Soooo,” Roche eventually drawled, “does that mean you’re going back to Temeria or not? Because if you _are_ going to Gors Velen, I have some work I’d like to get started.”

His commandos immediately perked up. “Got work for us already? Damn, Boss, you fast,” Thirteen whistled.

“Not officially – well. Actually, we have been given a task from Saskia. I’ve accepted a position as her Head of Intelligence, with the condition that any work for Temeria takes precedent.”

“And unofficially, you have some work for Temeria?”

He licked his lips. “I do. I have a few plans that could use refinement. We know that Nilfgaard is headed to Temeria. What we need is a network of informers across the kingdom that can let us know what’s happening on the ground. And I think – I think we may want to spread word that the Heirs of Temeria will return. I dunno, maybe it’ll give people some hope. Temeria may be lost, but it’s not gone, not as long as Anais and Boussy are alive.”

“Getting people out isn’t exactly the best way to accomplish that.”

“I know. But there’s always going to be people who choose to stay, even though they know Nilfgaard is coming. Even though they’re being offered safety here,” Roche huffed a laugh. “We’re Temerians. No one can say we aren’t stubborn.”

“Ain't that the truth,” Ves muttered, downing another shot. 

“I don’t know what’s going to happen with Natalis, but I have a feeling if he doesn’t decide to make a suicidal next stand, he’ll come here – and he’ll bring as many people as he can with him. Which, great, at least there’ll be _someone_ the refugees will listen to, but that means those left in Temeria will be a few different types: those who can’t leave, those who refuse to, and patriots. Patriots are gonna be the problem – I saw it when we annexed Brugge. They’re the diehards who will never accept Nilfgaardian rule – and who see any that _do_ as collaborators, even if they’re just trying to stay alive. We need a kingdom for Anais and Boussy to reclaim someday – we can’t let it go to shit.”

Finch frowned, fingers tapping an anxious rhythm against his knee. “Wouldn’t it be better to make Temeria too costly for Nilfgaard to maintain? Make it more beneficial for them to leave?”

“Has Nilfgaard _ever_ left anywhere?” Roche grimaced. “Let’s be real – there’s probably going to be a fight against Nilfgaard at some point. If nothing else, they’ll come for the Free Pontar Valley. But one thing’s for sure – Nilfgaard won’t let territory go without a fight. But we can’t fight today. The kids are too young to rule, and we just don’t have the numbers. So we make sure the kids have what they need when it _is_ time. For now, what we need is information – people willing to pass intel along and a way for them to do it. Informants and reliable couriers – that’s what I’m asking you to look for.”

“We can do that,” Shorty nodded seriously.

“I know Mom does business with people in Vengerberg, so she must have trustworthy couriers,” Pillow Tits said, biting his lower lip as he spoke.

“Great. See if she might be willing to help us.” Roche tapped his chin, wondering if he was missing anything. “The forests will be safe to travel through for the refugees, at least. Won’t need to attempt the mountain passes, if they can’t get passage along the Pontar.”

“Oh yeah,” Thirteen blinked. “All the Scoia’tael are here. Though I doubt many refugees will find that comforting to know, even if it _does_ make the forests safe for like, the first time ever.”

“Well, still monsters,” Silas pointed out.

“Ugh, fucking endregas,” Fenn shuddered. “So gross.”

“You said Saskia had asked us for something too?” Pillow Tits asked.

“Yeah, though they’re not unrelated. She knows Nilfgaard is gonna come here sooner or later. Wants to be ready to face them – which means she needs to know anything and everything about them. And since we’ll be facing them sooner or later, _we_ need to know everything.”

“Sir,” Silas asked, “what if...I mean, the Dragonslayer is impressive and she won against Henselt against all odds. But...what if she fails? Nilfgaard won’t let the children live, not when they could radicalize the people to rise up.”

Roche swallowed thickly. “Then we do everything possible to make sure she _doesn’t_ fail. And if that doesn’t work, then we take the kids and run for as long as we can.” His voice was grim, and his men looked back at him equally seriously, the jovial mood of earlier ruined. They all knew a small unit wouldn’t be able to evade Nilfgaard for long. Especially not and be able to raise two children. 

Silas nodded. “Then we make sure she doesn’t fail,” he repeated, taking the shot glass out of Thirteen’s hand and downing it himself. His grimace at the taste was fairly minute, and Roche was kind of impressed. That shit was _vile._

Not that that stopped any of them from drinking it.

“So,” Roche cleared his throat, “Silas, Shorty, Pillow Tits – take the ship and head back to Temeria. You can leave whenever you’re ready.”

“Thank you, sir,” Silas smiled meekly.

“Aaaah, it’ll be good to see my wife again,” Shorty sighed, lovelorn.

“And how about the sixteen munchkins?”

“Ah, the babies are getting so big! Lima and Mike will be a pain on the journey back, I’ve no doubt. And little November and Papa, oh – it’ll be nice to hold a wee babe again, you know? That baby smell is so soothing.”

“Yeah, that’s not weird,” Fenn grumbled.

“Bro, I’m still scared of dropping one of the babies again. I ain’t smelling them,” Thirteen scratched his head.

Shorty chuckled, “Sofia’s still sore with you about that. I just think it’s good that Kilo’s got such a hard head.”

“No one told me babies were slippery!”

“Oh my gods, Thirteen, really!?” Pillow Tits’ voice was exasperated.

“I think this calls for another round of drinks,” Roche laughed.

Ves obligingly poured a row of shots. 

It was usually a bad sign when the moonshine started to taste _good,_ but given this would be the last evening the Blue Stripes would spend together for a while, Roche gave himself permission to keep drinking. 

When Ves held up her knives again, Thirteen and Fenn eagerly jumped up to continue the competition.

“Another game?” Roche asked, gesturing to the dice board.

Shorty yawned dramatically. “I’m getting tired, actually. Say, Pillow Tits…”

PT laughed and pulled the mattress into the middle of the room, lying back against it. “You know I’m always about cuddles.”

“Dibs on Aaron,” Finch cried, diving down to claim PT’s left tit as a pillow. 

“Nooooo,” Shorty whined, scrambling onto the bed and claiming PT’s right tit. Roche laughed and squirmed his way in between them. Before long, Silas climbed down to join them, pillowing his head on PT’s bicep.

Thirteen looked at them with a forlorn expression and started walking towards them.

“What, are you done already?” Ves taunted. 

“Pillowy Tits though,” Thirteen whined.

“You forfeit then?”

“Noooooooooooo,” Thirteen drew the word out piteously. “Oh fine, cuddles soon though.

Roche yawned, nuzzling into PT’s chest. “Just don’t break anything.”

He was just drunk enough that he floated for a bit, surrounded by the grunting and snoring of his squad. At some point, the candles burned down enough that the room was only lit by the fire still crackling merrily in the grate. When he raised his head, bleary with sleep and booze, he could see Ves sitting in an armchair by the fire, Fenn and Thirteen on the floor in front of her. Judging from the clinking of glass, they were still drinking.

Fucking hell, where did they get that staying power? He felt too damned old for that kind of shit.

Grumbling to himself, Roche nuzzled back into PT’s chest and waited for sleep to come again.

And waited.

And waited.

What the fuck. He’d always slept best when surrounded by his squad, all huddled up together. Why was he having trouble sleeping _now?_

Except, there had been one instance where he’d slept even _better_ than with his men. One time where he’d woken up refreshed and rejuvenated and so very confused. 

Just thinking about it made his arms ache to hold Iorveth again, and he wasn’t confused anymore. Or, well, perhaps it was better to say that he was ignoring any confusion that bubbled forth. 

Confused or not, he desperately wanted to see Iorveth again, and it was making it very difficult to fall back asleep and there were sounds coming from the three Stripes still awake that were making it even _harder_ to fall back asleep and dammit, okay, he was awake now.

Discontent, he pulled himself up and wiggled his way out of the cuddle pile carefully. Ves looked up at his movement, but all she did was arch an eyebrow, hand stroking over Thirteen’s hair and ears even though she was, for all intents and purposes, not paying attention to the two drunken idiots making out at her feet.

“Can’t fucking sleep,” Roche mumbled in response to her implied question. “Why are _you_ still awake?”

Fenn pulled away from Thirteen’s mouth, ignoring Thirteen’s faint whine. “If you want to release some tension, Boss…”

Roche definitely did, but they weren’t the people he had in mind. “Not tonight. Think I’ll go for a walk. Don’t stay up too late,” he ordered with a pointed finger. 

“Let us know if you change your mind,” Ves smirked, curling her fingers into Thirteen’s hair and pulling his head back and exposing the long line of his throat. Thirteen moaned and Fenn turned back to resume kissing Thirteen. 

Ves stared Roche down as he shifted, his body telling him quite clearly that it was interested in what was happening here. But when he looked at the arch of Thirteen’s throat, all he could think about was how much he wanted to see what Iorveth’s throat would look like covered with his marks. 

He swallowed and nodded at Ves, then turned and headed out the door. He had a house to find.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Iorveth plays in W2 is actually a real song! It’s from one of the oldest medieval manuscripts that contains music (Llibre Vermell de Montserrat) and the song can be heard [here](https://youtu.be/8frAmkVXiwI?t=147). (time marked to start at 2:27 when Iorveth’s “part” starts).
> 
> It is actually canonical that Shorty named all 16 of his children after Temerian troop divisions and this will never not be funny to me. So yep, all his kids are named after the phonetic alphabet. And yes, his 16th kid is, in fact, Papa.


	17. Arc 2: Sex and Softs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roche attempts to be stealthy and romantic and sneaks in through Iorveth's window. Well, tries to.

Roche was perhaps still a little bit intoxicated, on exhaustion if nothing else, but he found Iorveth’s house exactly where Saskia had said, right next to the hanging gardens. He could hardly go through the front door – what if he was seen by someone who decided to share? – so in his top form mental state, climbing the trellis to the window around back was only logical.

Turned out, wooden trellises were _not_ as stable as stories about forbidden lovers climbing through each other’s windows made them sound, but he only slipped once. Finally, his fingers curled around Iorveth’s windowsill and he hauled himself up high enough to look inside and see Iorveth, clad only in a nightshirt, sitting in front of the fire, smoking and staring into the flames. He looked – well, not at peace. Actually, if anything, he looked decidedly troubled, and Roche wasn’t actually sure if Iorveth would be annoyed to have his brooding interrupted, but…

“A little help here,” he called, breathless, his fingers starting to go numb.

Iorveth startled, turning to look at Roche with stark surprise on his face that slowly turned into amusement as he set his pipe down and walked over to the window.

“Are you really sneaking in through my window?” Iorveth asked with a half-laugh.

“Turns out, much easier in stories than in reality,” Roche grunted. 

Iorveth wrapped a hand around his upper arm and hauled him inside. Unfortunately, Roche’s boots caught on the window frame and they overbalanced. Collapsing onto Iorveth with a breathless puff of air, the first thing Roche noted as his muscles trembled and reminded him that climbing through the window had been a terrible idea, was that Iorveth’s nightshirt was smooth and silky against his skin. The second thing he noticed was that Iorveth made absolutely no move to get up or to push him off.

Roche pulled himself onto his elbows, staring down at that beautiful face. “Hi,” he murmured.

Iorveth huffed a laugh. “Hi.”

“I – um, Saskia told me where your new house was.”

Iorveth hummed. “And to what do I owe the honor of a late night visit?”

Roche licked his lips, his mind feeling sluggish. “Honestly? I was with the Stripes and it was all cuddly and good, but, uh – I just… really wanted to sleep beside you.” He flushed as he admitted it, but the words made Iorveth’s face go soft and pleased and that was worth a little embarrassment. “Didn’t mean to interrupt you, though. Have a lot on your mind?”

“Mm,” Iorveth rumbled, “the smoking was supposed to get things _out_ of my mind.”

“Yeah? Wanna talk about it?” Roche offered, rolling off of Iorveth to pull himself to his feet and offer a hand to the elf.

Iorveth clasped his hand, and after Roche dragged Iorveth up, he somehow forgot to let go of that hand. Iorveth didn’t seem to mind, though, just using their clasped hands to tug Roche over to the lone armchair in front of the fire. 

“Have to get more furniture,” Iorveth mumbled, but he collapsed into the chair and reached for his pipe with his free hand.

Roche plopped himself on the floor next to Iorveth, not letting his hand go yet, and once Iorveth was settled, it seemed the most natural thing in the world to lean his head against Iorveth’s knee, their hands resting on Iorveth’s thigh.

Roche’s head was still muddled with weariness and alcohol, so it took him a long time to remember that he’d wanted to get Iorveth to _stop_ brooding. But he was comfortable and moving seemed like a lot of effort, so he just let his eyes fall closed and asked, “whatcha thinking about?”

Iorveth squeezed Roche’s hand and sighed heavily, smoke curling through his breath. “I saw Gwynveth,” he said, exhaustion weighing down every syllable and Roche wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms around the elf. So he did, even though it was only Iorveth’s legs.

“Yeah? Give her a blood sample?”

“Mm, for all the good it’ll do.” Iorveth’s voice was bitter and layered with pain and all Roche could do was nuzzle against his knee.

“What do you mean?”

Iorveth sighed, “if any elves are infected, I almost certainly am.” 

Roche shifted to look up at him and Iorveth’s jaw was clenched tight. Roche pressed a kiss to the back of Iorveth’s hand and wished he could do more.

“I–” Iorveth began, “I lived in Loc Muinne. For – fuck, decades, at least. And then Marshal Raupenneck came.”

Roche perked up in alarm. “You weren’t _in_ the city during the massacre.”

“No,” Iorveth’s face twisted. “I was playing in Novigrad when it happened. Came back to a city on fire and no one allowed inside. All of them, everyone I knew…”

“Fuck.”

Iorveth swallowed and took another hit off his pipe. “Seeing Loc Muinne again, seeing the ruins and just–” he shook his head. “I hated being there. I hate that I wonder what happened to all the stuff I once had, what happened to the bodies of my neighbors and friends and–” his exhale this time sounded more like a snarl. “If Uncle Goeveth really – if we’re infected. I – how _could_ he? Fucking fuck, at least he could’ve warned all of us before we started _living_ there! _He_ even lived there! After poisoning the fucking water supply!” 

Roche winced. Yeah, that was a pretty strange decision, moving into the city you’d personally poisoned. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I’m sorry you went through that.”

Iorveth sighed. “It just figures. First my fucking eye, now this. It’s a miracle any elf still follows me at all.”

Roche frowned, “what does that mean? Why wouldn’t they? You’re the best commander the Scoia’tael has had since – no, actually, since ever.”

Iorveth snorted, “least I got that much. Damaged goods, otherwise.”

Roche’s brown furrowed and he twisted around, releasing Iorveth’s hand. Iorveth almost seemed to shrink into himself at that, but Roche carefully cupped his cheeks and forced them to look into each other’s eyes.

“Look at me. You’re not broken. Who cares if you’re infertile? I can’t have a baby anyway, and we’ve already got two kids to not fuck up raising. And if it matters that much in the future, then you can get the cure. Because we _will_ find one. But I don’t care either way - you’re _you,_ Iorveth, and you’re who I want.”

Iorveth stared at him, stark shock on his face and Roche sighed, leaning in to kiss him softly. 

“C’mon, let’s go to bed. You need to stop thinking.”

Iorveth hummed in agreement, still staring even as Roche rose to his feet and pulled Iorveth up too. Iorveth was quiet, setting aside his pipe and letting Roche tow him over to the bed and arrange them so that he was lying with his head on Roche’s shoulder.

“Talk to me?” Iorveth eventually murmured, “keep me from thinking?”

“I can do that,” Roche said, pulling Iorveth closer into his chest. Pulling an old lullaby from memory, he began singing it softly, just for Iorveth’s ears.

Iorveth nuzzled into his neck and gradually, his breathing evened out. Roche wasn’t quite sure when he followed. All he knew was that he’d been singing quietly as his fingers carded through Iorveth’s hair, and suddenly he was waking up to the bright morning sun.

They had shifted in the night, and now Roche found himself curled tightly around Iorveth, the elf’s back cool against his chest, though the silk of Iorveth’s nightshirt had grown warm from their proximity. Roche nuzzled his face into the hair behind Iorveth’s ear, breathing in a faint floral scent he thought might be orchids. 

Fuck, but if he got to wake up like this every day for the rest of his life, he didn’t even care how bad the rest of it might be. 

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, glancing around the room. It was fairly basic – a stone room with a little privacy divider where the chamber pot was, a small coal stove next to a bathtub basin in the kitchen, a dining table, and a fireplace against the wall, with the armchair Iorveth had sat in last night in front of it. Iorveth’s armor lay in a heap by the door, and Roche found himself chewing on his lip, eyeing the leather ties Iorveth wore on his upper arms. 

What would they look like against Iorveth’s bare skin? Wrapped around Iorveth’s wrists and ankles? He shivered, biting down hard on his lower lip. 

Iorveth let out a pleased sigh, arching back into him and very definitely feeling the way his cock had started to take an interest. “Good morning,” the elf murmured without opening his eyes.

Roche nuzzled into the hair behind Iorveth’s ear. “G’morning,” he said, breath puffing over Iorveth’s skin and drawing out a shudder. “I have an idea.”

“Mm?”

He licked his lips. “It involves the leather straps on your armor.”

Iorveth snorted, “you dh’oine really are always horny, aren’t you?”

Roche opened his mouth, “I feel like I should protest, but you’re not entirely _wrong.”_

Iorveth laughed aloud at that, wiggling in his arms until they were facing each other. 

Roche looked at Iorveth, some part of him awestruck. The way Iorveth’s face lit up with amusement had something fluttering in his chest, so he tilted his face and pressed their lips together. 

Iorveth sighed into his mouth, wrapping an arm and a leg around him and pulling him closer.

“Seems to me elves are just as horny as humans,” Roche murmured and Iorveth snorted again.

“Not usually.”

“Oh, so I’m special, huh?” 

He was joking, but Iorveth’s face turned soft in answer. Roche swallowed against the wave of emotion that crawled up his throat and pressed forward for another kiss.

Iorveth brought a hand up to cup his jaw and the way Iorveth’s thumb was brushing back and forth across his cheek was driving him to distraction.

Roche let his hand slide up Iorveth’s side, gliding across the silk of Iorveth’s nightshirt until he reached Iorveth’s shoulder. Then he dragged his hand down Iorveth’s arm until he could circle his fingers around the hand on his face. He pulled away from Iorveth’s mouth to turn his face into Iorveth’s hand, pressing his lips against Iorveth’s palm, the bow callus on Iorveth’s thumb, and each fingertip. 

Then he rolled Iorveth onto his back, bringing the wrist in his hand up above Iorveth’s head. Iorveth moaned when Roche’s weight settled above him, and the bastard used his free hand to sneak under the hem of Roche’s sleep pants and squeeze his ass.

“Hey!” he yelped, unconsciously pushing back into the touch. Iorveth’s long middle finger trailed down his crack and Roche shivered. 

“Mmm,” Iorveth smirked up at him, “maybe I should pay you back for your delightful cock.”

He chuckled, leaning down to kiss Iorveth again. Iorveth’s hand clenched around his ass, digging into the muscle and he couldn’t help moaning against Iorveth’s lips. 

“You definitely should,” Roche murmured. “You still want out of your head, or you doing better?”

Iorveth tilted his head, “what are you offering?”

Roche licked his lips, running his nose along the curve of Iorveth’s cheek. “I tie you up and fuck myself on your cock,” he said in a rush.

“Fuck,” Iorveth arched, fingers digging bruises into his ass. “Yeah, fuck, yes, let’s do that.”

Roche bit Iorveth’s jaw, sucking lightly without leaving a mark. Then he rolled off the bed – regrettably losing Iorveth’s hand – and made a beeline for Iorveth’s armor. “Jeez,” he said as he grabbed the two leather straps Iorveth wore on his right arm – to keep his armor from interfering with his shooting, Roche had always suspected, though it was hard to say. Absolutely none of Iorveth’s armor came from matching sets, so for all Roche knew, maybe Iorveth just wore the straps to make his gambeson fit. “You know, if you’re Saskia’s security now, you should probably have armor befitting that.”

Iorveth, spread out across the middle of the bed, shrugged. “Armor is armor. As long as it does its purpose, what else matters?”

Roche shook his head with a smile, returning to the bed and eyeing the elf sprawled across it. “Hands above your head,” he said, licking his lips as Iorveth followed orders without question, arching an eyebrow in challenge.

He wrapped the leather straps around each wrist, then used Iorveth’s belt to tie his bound hands to the top of the headboard, leaving Iorveth’s arms partially elevated. Afterwards, he bit his lip and fiddled with the length of silk he’d grabbed from his own pile of armor. He’d bought it at the market earlier because, despite his words to Brigida yesterday, he did not, in fact, leave his coin purse behind and he _did_ rather enjoy shopping while drunk.

It was a large square of red silk, the color deep and vivid from whatever dyes the dwarves used, and he’d mostly picked it up with the thought that it might be nice for Iorveth to have another bandana, but also…

“How do you feel about blindfolds?”

Iorveth’s eyebrow shot up, and he licked his lips. “Good. Very good.”

Roche grinned, crawling up the bed so he could reach Iorveth’s face. But before he tied the silk into place, he needed to check. 

“You know Rinn’s finger language?” Roche asked

“Mm,” Iorveth nodded, “I taught it to her.”

“Good. Show me the sign for stop?”

Iorveth curled his ring and pinkie finger on his right hand, leaving three fingers free. Then he brought his pointer and middle finger down to meet his thumb in a smooth motion. Roche watched Iorveth’s fingers carefully, and then mimicked the motion, checking that he’d gotten it right. At Iorveth’s nod, he repeated the motion and nodded to himself. 

“I’ll watch your hands,” he said. “If you need to stop…”

“I’ll signal,” Iorveth agreed. 

“Good,” he grunted, folding the silk into a thin strip that could wrap around Iorveth’s eyes easily. Iorveth’s eye fluttered closed and Roche coiled the silk around his head, securing it in the front so that his head could lay flat.

In addition to cutting off Iorveth’s sight, the silk would muffle his hearing – as would the way his arms rested next to his ears. Good. Roche wanted Iorveth to focus only on Roche’s voice.

He licked his lips and rose off the bed, watching Iorveth squirm and wriggle against the restraints for long moments, letting him get a feel for the bindings, but also watching as he grew tense, waiting for Roche to touch him.

“You look gorgeous,” Roche said, ghosting his fingers over Iorveth’s ankles, the arch of his foot. Iorveth shuddered. “A feast for me to devour, all spread out on display.”

Iorveth bit his lip against a small sound, flexing his toes as Roche tickled his fingers over the bottom of Iorveth’s feet. 

“Have I mentioned I love that you wear silk? You deserve to treat yourself, and I’ll bet silk feels luxurious against your skin, doesn’t it?” Roche circled around the bed and reached out to smooth the silken nightshirt across Iorveth’s chest. Iorveth twitched as the silk dragged across his nipples when Roche let his fingers dance over the canvass before him.

Iorveth looked absolutely exquisite, splayed out on the bed in his rucked up nightshirt. Dragging his gaze from the half-covered scars on Iorveth’s face to the still-healing wound on his leg, Roche couldn’t help kneeling on the bed and kissing that injury, the one that had led to more than one moment over the past week where Roche had feared for Iorveth’s life.

He still remembered the way the world had seemed to freeze when Iorveth fell in Loc Muinne, the way his heart had gone cold and his breath frozen in his chest. He still remembered the way he hadn’t been close enough to catch Iorveth.

He nuzzled into Iorveth’s leg, sucking kisses around the injury. Then Roche rose to his feet and shucked his own clothes. 

“Mmm, it’s been a while since I’ve been fucked,” he said lazily, “humans aren’t self-lubricating like elves, but you’re so wet, I bet I can open myself up just with your slick.”

Iorveth shivered, a small moan slipping out as he exhaled.

“Gonna take a while, gotta stretch myself nice and wide for your cock,” Roche said, circling his fingers around Iorveth’s hard cock as he spoke. “Fuck, you’re so wet already. So ready to slide inside me, aren’t you? But you’re bigger than I’ve taken in ages.”

Iorveth’s hips twitched and Roche laughed.

“Mmm, only had my fingers for far too long. You’re gonna fill me up so well.” Roche couldn’t help his moan as he squeezed his fingers around Iorveth’s cock. Gods, even though the tip of Iorveth’s cock was only about the width of two fingers, the base of his cock was _thick._ It would feel _so_ good and fuck, why hadn’t they done this before, anyway?

He released Iorveth’s cock and brought fingers covered in slick down between his own legs, just rubbing over his hole at first. It really _had_ been a long time. Actually, it had been a long time since he’d had sex with anyone except Iorveth period. Before Foltest had been killed, he’d been pulled from mission to mission in preparation for the assault on La Valette Castle that he’d probably last found a hook up...shit, months ago?

Fuck, but he was practically drooling over the prospect of Iorveth filling him up. Swallowing the excess saliva in his mouth, Roche licked his lips and leaned forward to brace one hand on Iorveth’s stomach, the other hand behind him slowly pushing one fingertip inside himself.

“Next time,” Roche said lowly, “nnng, fuck, next time, I want to sit on your face.” Iorveth moaned and he grinned, “gods, I bet your tongue feels fantastic. Just picture it – next time you can open me up with your tongue and fingers and then fuck me all night long until you’re ready to pass out.”

Iorveth shuddered, letting out a small sound. “Don’t think humans can go all night,” Iorveth muttered.

Roche laughed. “No, no they can’t. But just because I’m tapped out doesn’t mean you have to _stop._ Mmm, I bet you’d feel fantastic to wake up to, already stretching me wide and plugging me _so full.”_

He bit his lip against his own moan and added another finger. 

_“Gods,_ I’m gonna ride you so slowly, you’ll cry begging me to move faster. But how can I do anything but savour having you, hmm?”

Iorveth whined, fists clenched. “Vernon,” he said softly.

“Hmm?”

“Fuck, touch me, please?”

“I _am_ touching you, though,” Roche teased, flexing the hand that was balancing his weight on Iorveth’s stomach and bending down to blow cool air across Iorveth’s skin where the nightshirt was rucked up.

Iorveth whimpered. 

“Fuck, I bet those ridges will feel _amazing_ inside me,” Roche panted, twisting his fingers and adding a third with a moan. “Gods, you’ve downright spoiled me for sex with anyone else. How can anyone compare when you’re – nngh, fuck – you’re – oh, _Iorveth,”_ he bit down hard on his lip as his fingertips brushed over that spot inside him that had lightning sparking up his nerves. “Fuck, feels so good. Feel even better when it’s your cock instead of my fingers.”

Iorveth squirmed under the hand on him, thighs brushing together in an attempt to get friction.

“Ah ah ah,” Roche leaned down and bit Iorveth’s thigh, making him arch. “Mmm, bet you wish you could see the way I look, stretched around my fingers. Are you picturing it? Thinking about what I’ll look like stretched around your cock instead?”

“Fuck,” Iorveth gasped, writhing on the bed and desperate for touch. 

Roche licked his lips. This delectable elf, all spread out for _him._ “Gods, you look gorgeous.”

And Iorveth did, a fine pink blush spread across his face and his neck, and probably continuing under the neckline of his nightshirt. Like Iorveth’s tattoo, it gave Roche the urge to follow it all the way down, to see how far down Iorveth flushed when he was hot and bothered.

Well, he did have Iorveth tied up for his pleasure, didn’t he?

“Fuck, your tattoo goes all the way down, doesn’t it?” Roche realized, tracing the ivy pattern that spiraled up Iorveth’s right leg with his eyes. 

Iorveth made a sound that was half laugh, half moan. “You should find out,” he challenged.

“Oh, I intend to,” Roche grinned, “but first…” he pulled his fingers out and got up from the bed, heading towards his armor again. His memory from the market last night was spotty, and he may have ended up drunkenly carrying on a conversation with a stone wall, but he was pretty sure that he’d bought something that might help. “Ah!”

Iorveth made an inquiring noise, still squirming on the bed.

“You’re big,” Roche said, returning to the bed and just watching Iorveth squirm for a moment. “I’m gonna have to work my way up to you. Fortunately, I have the perfect thing to use.”

He closed his hand around Iorveth’s cock again, and Iorveth jerked, bucking up into his touch. “Wha–”

“See, apparently dwarves are a lot more chill about these things than humans. Either that, or I was very lost. Either is possible. Buuuut, I found this lovely little shop selling these gorgeous glass instruments.” 

Their selection had been incredible, too. Roche hadn’t even known that “instruments” could come in so many... _inventive_ shapes and sizes. But in the end, the one that had called to him was fairly tame – a basic phallic shape, but with a textured flower and stem extending up the shaft. It was the flower that had done it, of course. What could be more fitting for his elven lover?

Roche was not at all disappointed to be testing it out first, though. He brought his hand coated in Iorveth’s slick around the toy and stroked it, coating it thoroughly before kneeling next to Iorveth – close enough the blindfolded and bound man would be able to feel his body heat – and slowly reached around himself and pushed it inside. 

“Oh,” he moaned, long and low and loud, and Iorveth shuddered.

“Vernon,” Iorveth whined, wiggling and squirming and asking for touch.

“Mm, hold on, darling,” Roche murmured, clenching around the toy and shivering. “Fuck, and you’re going to feel _even better,_ I–” he bit his lip, ducking down to let his head rest on Iorveth’s stomach. “Oh fuck, Iorveth,” he couldn’t help opening his mouth and biting at the muscle hidden under the silk nightshirt.

Iorveth arched with a gasp, tugging at his restraints. “Vernon, please, fuck, _Vernon.”_

“Gods, I love the way you say my name,” Roche said against Iorveth’s shirt, giving himself a minute to adjust before moving. Then he crawled down the bed, every movement making him shudder, until he could use his tongue to outline where the ivy tattoo ended in a blossom on the top of Iorveth’s foot.

Iorveth’s muscles flexed under his tongue as Iorveth tried not to jerk his foot away in surprise. Roche laughed, circling his fingers around Iorveth’s ankle and holding it in place. He dragged his mouth across Iorveth’s skin, following the lines of ivy with his tongue. The vines coiled around Iorveth’s leg, around the back of his calf, just above the back of his knee, and high on his thigh – and Roche intended to take his time with all of it. 

“Hold still,” he ordered and Iorveth made a small pitiful sound. Roche chuckled and kissed the foot in his hand. “Just let yourself feel.”

Iorveth’s calf was firm against his teeth, and the elf wiggled and squirmed when he sucked kisses to the back of the knee. Licking his way up Iorveth’s thigh was _delightful,_ and not just because Iorveth’s cunt was spreading wetness everywhere. Iorveth was trying _so hard_ to stay still, just because Roche had told him to. There was something heady about that, even as the muscles of Iorveth’s thigh jumped under his teeth and Iorveth’s hips twitched in an aborted move.

The tattoo continued, from Iorveth’s inner thigh, around the crease of his leg and up his hip before cutting across Iorveth’s torso _just_ above his cock. Roche smirked, raising Iorveth’s leg high and nipping at the sensitive skin below Iorveth’s ass. He kissed around Iorveth’s hip, pushing the nightshirt up to expose Iorveth’s stomach, and then very deliberately licked his way across Iorveth’s pelvis without ever touching the hard cock begging for attention. 

Iorveth whimpered, biting down hard on his lower lip and Roche tsked, abandoning the mark he’d been biting into Iorveth’s far hip to bite at his chin instead.

“Let me hear you. You make such beautiful sounds, and we can finally _be_ loud. Don’t hold back.” With his thumb, he pulled Iorveth’s lip out of his mouth, smiling when Iorveth automatically licked and sucked at his finger.

He let Iorveth enjoy having something in his mouth, leaning down to continue to suck and bite at Iorveth’s skin through the nightshirt. “You look beautiful with my marks all across you,” Roche murmured, blowing cool air against wet silk.

Iorveth shuddered and whimpered as he tried so, _so_ hard not to move.

Roche closed his teeth around the point of Iorveth’s nipple and tugged.

“Vern’n,” Iorveth whined, jerking against Roche as he tried not to buck.

“Mmm, you’ve been so good, haven’t you, darling? You’ve earned your reward.” 

Iorveth made a small desperate sound and Roche stretched up to kiss him again, reaching around himself to pull out the toy. Then he circled Iorveth’s cock with his fingers and began to lower himself down, so slowly his thighs shook from the effort. But the way Iorveth arched underneath him, hands clenching tight in pleasure – and never shaping the sign Roche watched for – he bit his lip and forced himself to maintain the slow pace. The ridges on Iorveth’s cock forced him wide again and again and all he could do was listen to the litany of sounds Iorveth released and try to breathe.

By the time he was fully seated on Iorveth’s cock, Iorveth’s blindfold was wet with tears and the elf gasped wildly for breath. Roche clenched, adjusting to the feel of Iorveth inside him and shuddering every time Iorveth twitched. 

Iorveth’s whole body was trembling and he was being so good for Roche, hadn’t even tried to speed up his pace. 

“You – _fuck_ – you feel so,” his head tipped back as he rolled his hips down against Iorveth’s, “so – nngh – gods, even better than I imagined.”

It was entirely possible that Iorveth couldn’t understand a word he was saying anymore, too overwhelmed to concentrate on little things like language. That didn’t stop Roche from talking as he wiggled around, getting his knees under himself and planting his hands on Iorveth’s chest.

The splay of his hands covered the entirety of Iorveth’s chest and it made him feel something soft and protective, stroking his thumb across the silken nightshirt – not trying to arouse, but just touching, touching this incredible elf who was letting Roche take him apart.

He swallowed, licking his lips. “I did imagine it, you know. What you would feel like.” He rose slowly off of Iorveth, and then sank back down twice as slow.

Iorveth moaned piteously, begging for more.

“I’ve thought about – mm – ‘bout if I’d offered my ass rather than my mouth the first time we met. Thought about what you would feel like, pushing into me, slowly forcing me wider and wider,” his voice broke on the last word and he clenched around Iorveth. “Gods, you feel incredible. ‘Dream about if you’d bent me over against that tree and just taken me.”

Iorveth whined, mouth hanging open as Roche flicked his thumbs over Iorveth’s nipples.

“But gods, this is so much better than anything I could’ve dreamed of. I’m – fuck, I’m not gonna last long.” 

Roche realized he was shaking, and now that he’d acknowledged it, the wave of sensation threatened to overwhelm him but fuck, he wanted Iorveth to come, wanted to know what it felt like when he did. 

“Iorveth,” he moaned, circling his hips to grind the ridges on Iorveth’s cock against the spot inside him that made him shudder. “C’mon, darling, I want you to fill me up, wanna know what it’s like to take all of you. I–” he gasped wildly, his hands fisting in Iorveth’s nightshirt. 

The torrent of pleasure peaked and Roche found himself toppling over the edge, coming in spurts over Iorveth’s stomach and definitely staining the silk nightshirt.

He clenched around Iorveth, arching, and then Iorveth was coming too, pulses of cum from the ridges forcing him wider. He’d never felt anything like it, and he shuddered, squeezing around Iorveth as his arms shook and he collapsed against Iorveth’s chest.

Iorveth’s orgasm had been quiet, the elf gone voiceless and hazy, and Roche nuzzled into him, trying to match their breathing.

When Roche finally felt like he could move without the whole world shaking, he forced sore muscles to rise and fetch a cloth to clean them. Then he knelt on the bed and unbound Iorveth’s hands, using his thumbs to rub little circles across Iorveth’s palm, then massaging the red marks on Iorveth’s wrists and moving up his arms. 

Iorveth was limp in his grasp, completely checked out and Roche bit his lip against the surge of pride that brought on. 

He pulled the ruined nightshirt over Iorveth’s head, tossing it somewhere off to the side, then finally removed the blindfold, setting that one gently to the side. It was a gift, after all. Iorveth blinked blearily, his pretty green eye still hazy and out of it.

Roche stroked Iorveth’s face and through his hair, shuffling down the bed until he could lie next to Iorveth and pull the elf into his arms, head pillowed on his shoulder. He licked his lips, tilting his head down to press a kiss to the top of Iorveth’s head before beginning to hum one of the songs he and his mother used to sing on lazy days.

Iorveth nuzzled into his neck, breathing slow and steady, and Roche was more than content to lay there all day, carding through Iorveth’s hair and singing for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The sign for “stop” I used here is actually “no” in American Sign Language.
> 
> So, this chapter fought me a lot. BUT the upside of that is that I also skipped ahead and kept writing, so uh....there's gonna be several chapters coming along.


	18. Arc 2: Drama

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things start to go wrong, and Roche has a significant revelation.

By the time it was midmorning, Roche knew he needed to leave. Still, it was difficult to pry himself away from Iorveth’s affectionate touch. With a final kiss, he turned away and pulled himself onto the window frame, before dropping down into the stone alley behind Iorveth’s house.

Feeling bright and happy and satisfied, he was too lost in thoughts of Iorveth to notice the figure that crept towards him.

“Iorveth!? _Really!?”_ Brigida hissed from behind him and Roche jumped.

“Brigida! What–”

“Anais wondered where you were,” she said evenly, “but the Stripes said you left late in the evening. Fucking hell, Vernon, I don’t care what you wanna do to get your dick wet, but _Iorveth!?_ The fucking terrorist!? Really!?”

“Can you _not_ shout about it?” Roche asked, a meek smile on his face.

“What, ashamed of it? You should be!”

He narrowed his eyes. “That’s uncalled for, Brigida. Look, I know it’s...unexpected, but it’s not – I know what I’m doing.” _Mostly,_ he didn’t say.

“What, letting a terrorist off the hook? Becoming a Scoia’tael sympathizer? What _exactly_ is it that you’re doing, Vernon?”

“I – I’m just...I’m _happy,_ Brigida. Isn’t that enough? He makes me happy, okay!?”

“Fuck that!” Brigida snarled, “that _elf_ is a murderer, someone who has terrorized the people of Temeria! And he ‘makes you happy’!? Are you fucking kidding me?”

“I know it’s – I know! But he’s – it’s – I love him, Brigida,” he said, realizing the truth of the words as he spoke. “Oh. Oh my gods, I love him.”

Brigida sputtered. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

Roche licked his lips, thinking back on the morning, on how utterly privileged he felt to have Iorveth’s trust, to be someone the elf let his guard down with. Roche thought about everything that had happened with Iorveth since their first meeting – and their second, less fortunate, meeting. He thought about every time Iorveth had purposely reached for him, answered him with enthusiasm when they kissed, openly enjoyed his touch and his kisses and fuck, Iorveth _asked him_ to come to Vergen with the elf. Was it really so unreasonable that he might love Iorveth?

“I’m not joking,” he said slowly, “I – I love him.” And fuck, but that was scary to say out loud, and the look on Brigida’s face was _not_ helping, but there was something so satisfying about just _knowing_ the word for what he felt. He loved Iorveth. Of course he did. It seemed so obvious in retrospect, and yet…

“Foltest would be ashamed of you,” Brigida spat, and Roche reeled back as if slapped.

“He–”

“He would be disgusted by the liberties you allow that terrorist,” she hissed, shaking her head at him, her own lips pulled into a sneer of disdain. “How could you?”

Roche felt frozen, the words hitting him like one of those dwarven trains and taking everything he was away with them. He was an empty shell, standing there staring at Brigida with wide eyes as his being reverberated with her statement. Foltest _would_ be ashamed of him. Foltest would be disgusted that he was sleeping with an elf, but even moreso that it was _this_ elf.

“I – everything I do is for Temeria,” he shaped numb lips to say, and Brigida just scoffed.

“And how is _this_ serving Temeria, Vernon? How is letting _that vermin_ walk free anything but a betrayal?”

“He’s – this is–” Roche tried to defend himself, but the logic he’d used to drive his decisions to side with Iorveth and Saskia and Vergen all seemed to crumple under the knowledge that Foltest would _never._

But it was for Foltest’s _children!_ Surely that had to mean something. Roche was just doing everything possible to ensure that Temeria _had_ a future. So what if that meant working with former-enemies? So what if it meant becoming part of a kingdom that Foltest would have tried to conquer in a heartbeat?

Foltest would have considered it naive, the idea that this Free Pontar Valley could survive and thrive without being absorbed by one of the established kingdoms. But Saskia had defeated the Aedirnian nobles, and she had defeated Henselt. Maybe it was just the start, but the Free Pontar Valley had been _recognized_ by the realms of the North. And Anais and Boussy were all set up to help _rule_ this new kingdom. Surely... _surely_ Foltest would understand why Roche had made the decisions he had. Surely Foltest would forgive Roche for working with people he hated.

Right?

Brigida frowned at him, her hands on her hips. “Can’t you see how out of character you’re acting? The way you’re – you’re practically trying to teach the kids to _like_ elves, for fuck’s sake. You! Do you even remember who you are, Vernon? Or has that sack of shit done something to you?”

“He hasn’t done anything! He’s – I’m not...I just want them to grow up to be strong leaders for Temeria. That’s – that’s not ‘out of character’!”

“No? The Vernon Roche I knew, the one who received the Medal of Honor from King Foltest for his victory in the Pacification of the Mahakaman Foothills, the one that practically fell in love with Foltest the moment he laid eyes on him – he would _never_ sleep with a fucking _terrorist!”_

“But he did,” Roche swallowed. “I...I didn’t know who he was, the first time. But I still – I – you don’t understand, Brigida. He’s – he’s not like you think. He’s...he _understands,_ and he’s–” Roche shook his head, trying to find the words to explain how Iorveth made him feel.

_“What_ does he understand?” Brigida huffed. “How to murder women and children? How to show no mercy as he slaughters travelers and terrorizes villages? Remember who he _is,_ Vernon!”

“I _know_ who he is! Yeah, he’s done bad shit. Fuck, Brigida, _I’ve_ done bad shit. He understands what it’s like to be – to have done something monstrous but to want to be better! He makes _me_ want to be better!”

“Better!? _Better!?_ Are you fucking kidding me!?” Brigida threw her hands in the air, “he’s _Iorveth,_ Vernon! You’ve been painting his face on wanted posters for four years straight! _How could you!?”_

“I–”

She shook her head, holding a hand up. The look on her face stopped him cold. He’d known Brigida for a long, long time. She had _always_ looked on him with a certain amount of affection, of amusement. Even after they’d grown apart, even after their interests had diverged, she’d still _trusted_ him.

Now? Now her expression was suspicious and disgusted and sad, with no hint of any positive regard for him.

“I promised I’d stick around a while,” Brigida said, her upraised hand curling into a fist as it fell. “But I’m no longer comfortable sharing a bed with you. We need to make it a priority to get more beds for the house. And if whatever the fuck you think you’re doing with that – that _treefucker_ threatens the children in _any_ way, I will destroy you.”

Roche’s breath echoed in his ears and he felt dizzy suddenly, overwhelmed by all that was happening. “I would _never_ hurt the children!” he managed to rasp, but Brigida’s clear disbelief just hurt worse. Everything he had done had been for them! He would _never_ harm them.

_But then,_ a part of his mind whispered, _why should she trust you? She knows you have the blood of children on your hands. Why would_ anyone _trust you with the wellbeing of children?_

Pressure built up in his throat and he felt inexplicably on the edge of tears suddenly. “I won’t – I’m not–”

“Anais loves you,” Brigida said, “so for her sake, I hope you figure your shit out. But until I can trust that you’re the Vernon I know again, I will be watching. If anything happens to either of the kids–”

“I know,” he croaked. “Brigida, I wouldn’t–”

But she just turned away. “How could I know what you wouldn’t do anymore?” she said softly, sadness in her voice. Then she walked away, leaving him standing off to the side of the hanging gardens, breath coming shallowly as her words hit him with their full effect.

For a long while, all he was aware of was the sound of his breath getting faster and faster and her echoing words, slowly mixing in with the savagery his own mind conjured, blending together until they were indistinguishable.

_Monster. How could I trust you with the children?_

_Traitor. How could you sleep with Iorveth? How could you_ love _him!?_

_Child-killer. Elf-lover. Temeria would be ashamed to claim you as one of her own._

Roche choked on his breath, and he suddenly realized that he was curled up on the ground in the alley beside the hanging gardens, hyperventilating and spiraling _badly._ His arms were wrapped around his legs and his whole body was shaking like a leaf and fuck, what a pathetic state to be in, in public no less!

But he couldn’t seem to get his hands to move, couldn’t seem to even out his breathing and all he could hear was the rapid _thump-thump-thump_ of his heart and his head was spinning and oh gods, he was in trouble.

With shaking hands, he reached into the pouch on his belt and pulled out the deceptively-light round metal tin that allowed him to contact Triss. It was only one-way – he could reach her, but she couldn’t reach him – and it was really supposed to be used for emergencies, but...well, if this wasn’t an emergency, it probably soon would be.

“Triss,” he spoke into the xenovox, and surely that timid, broken voice couldn’t be his own.

It took a few moments, and for each heartbeat that passed, all Roche could do was focus as much as possible on how tight his grip was on the xenovox, how the metal edges were digging into his fingers – and not on the wave of emotion rising just out of sight that he wasn’t ready to deal with.

There was static and then Triss’s soft, alarmed voice came through, “Vernon? Are you all right!?”

_She called you Vernon,_ a small part of his mind remembered Iorveth frowning about, and huh, she did call him that sometimes, didn’t she? When had that happened?

“I – no. I don’t think so.”

His voice cracked and was more breath than sound, but Triss seemed to get the message.

“Where are you? I’ll be right there!”

Roche opened his mouth and abruptly realized he had no idea where he was. When had he started walking? He didn’t even remember rising to his feet. “Um…”

Triss’s inhale sounded startled, “you’re lost?”

“I – guess? Um...I’m next to a statue of Yisna the Flame.”

“That doesn’t narrow it down, Roche. Okay, hold on, let me trace the xenovox. I’ll be there in a moment, I promise!”

The staticky link disconnected and Roche was left blinking up at the statue, still moderately creeped out by its expressionless face. The goddess of fertility and war, that’s what Zoltan had said, right? How fitting, then, that she could watch over the destruction of his life, his values, and everything he’d ever held dear.

Roche swallowed hard, digging his fingers into the xenovox until it hurt. He focused in on that pain, let it take over his thoughts until he heard the _whoosh_ of a portal forming and Triss stepped out of the air to join him… wherever he was.

She was standing at the ready, prepared for battle, so when she found him standing alone, Triss looked around with confusion on her face. But he saw the moment she got a good look at him and fuck, how bad he was doing _must_ have been obvious, because she gasped and rushed to him, wrapping her arms around him.

“What happened? What’s wrong?”

“I…” he looked around, noticing that passing dwarves were staring at them. “Can we go...somewhere?”

Triss nodded, pulling back instantly, though she squeezed his shoulder before twisting her hands in the air to form a portal. “Geralt showed me the perfect spot. Come on, I’ll take you there now. It’s gonna be okay.”

Once the fiery oval of empty space appeared before them, Triss’s hands returned to his shoulders and she wrapped an arm around him, slowly guiding him through the portal.

Roche let himself be guided, let himself follow the unvoiced orders in her touch once they stepped through to somewhere windy and she directed him to sit at a stone bench overlooking – 

“Wow,” he blinked, temporarily pulled out of his head. “Where are we?” 

The vista before him was breathtaking. In the far distance, he could see the high peaks of the Mahakaman Mountains, the slopes covered with trees that extended into the same forest Iorveth had dominated the past four years. The water of the Pontar looked sparkling and clear in the sun from here, and it wound out of the forest, across golden fields that were partitioned ever so precisely by the farmers who lived out amongst the wilds. A massive stone quarry lay southwest of Vergen and the sun glittered across the white rocks, giving the whole scene a fantastical quality.

“On Vergen’s peak,” Triss answered. “Only the goat herders come up here, according to Geralt. It’s incredible peaceful, isn’t it?”

Roche closed his eyes and inhaled the fresh air, and it felt like breathing new life into his perception of who he was. Vernon Roche was Temeria’s patriot, and he always had been. That hadn’t changed now. It _couldn’t_ change now.

“So,” Triss said softly, “what happened?”

He swallowed hard, clenching his fists. “Brigida found out about Iorveth,” he forced out. “She...reacted pretty much like you’d expect.” 

He closed his eyes and dragged a hand over his face, leaning into Triss when she wrapped an arm around his shoulder again. 

“Am I a traitor to Temeria for loving him?” 

His voice was small and he heard Triss’s startled gasp, curling in on himself and waiting for the confirmation.

“I–” Triss licked her lips. “A month ago, I might have thought so.” A sound not unlike a whimper escaped his lips and Triss held him tighter. “But I would be wrong. You – look at this world we’re building here, Roche. Would this have ever been possible in Temeria? Creating a land without prejudice – it’s an honor that we get to be a part of this. And the only reason we are is because you trusted Iorveth’s word. Right?”

He bit his lip, scrunching his eyes shut and nodding. If Iorveth had never vouched for Saskia, had never spoken of her with that low sense of awe and a cute little blush on his face, would Roche _ever_ have considered – any of it, any of his actions since Foltest’s death, since they’d pursued the Kingslayer to Flotsam. Since he’d met his enemy of legend and discovered that Iorveth was more than he’d ever expected – more complex, more affectionate, more...just _more._

Was it so wrong that Roche thirsted to learn more of Iorveth? Surely it was only normal, to want your enemy to be a fully fleshed out person. Right?

Only Iorveth _wasn’t_ his enemy anymore, not really. Hadn’t been since the moment Roche had decided to let Iorveth go in Flotsam.

Had he made the wrong decision? Where would they be now, if he hadn’t? Would it be better or worse than their current circumstances?

“I – I always knew Foltest would – that he wouldn’t approve. Not with an _elf._ But I–” Roche licked his lips, taking a deep, shaky breath. “I didn’t – it started out for Temeria. I don’t know when it – when I – fuck, Triss, I love him.” He pressed a hand to his face, feeling his body tremble. “Foltest is – was – _is_ my best friend. My King. I – everything I do has always been for him. I...have I ruined his children, Triss?” he looked up at her with tears in his eyes. “Have I lost sight of what Temeria is? Who she is?”

Triss hugged him fiercely. “No,” she said forcefully. “You haven’t forgotten anything. You, Vernon Roche, have _always_ seen truly to who Temeria is. Think about your orders with the Blue Stripes – you _knew_ that if you did precisely what Foltest asked, there would be riots in the streets, massacres of nonhumans across the kingdom. You _knew_ that would be bad, because you know Temeria as her people. You know the fear of not knowing where your next meal will come from, the tension of being forced to compromise on things you never thought you would in order to protect those around you. You know that when it comes down to it, it doesn’t matter whether the man next to you has pointed ears or is short with a beard – if they believe in Temeria, they are Temerian.”

Roche shook his head, “that’s not–”

“That’s exactly what you’ve said before,” Triss cut him off. “Granted, you were drunker and less eloquent, but that’s what you said, Vernon. And you were _right._ Temeria is more than just her King and her politics and her trade. Temeria is her people – the same people that have been offered sanctuary here, with Saskia.” She squeezed her arms around him, then pulled back slightly to meet his eyes. “I can’t say I _understand_ your whole thing with Iorveth. But I don’t have to understand to see that it’s made both of you better people. I’m serious!” she grabbed his chin when he tried to look away and forced him to meet her gaze. “You have always been the soldier who would do anything for Foltest. And yes, Temeria needed that service. But Vernon – the person you are with those children – the person who stood before Foltest’s daughter and tried to explain the difference between judging a people and judging a _person._ The man who gently explained consent and reasoning and compassion to two scared little children. That man? That’s someone I’m proud to call a friend.”

He blinked at her, throat feeling tight. “Foltest wouldn’t have been. Would he?”

Dammit, he could hear the desperation in his own voice, the sheer _need_ for Triss to reassure him that yes, Foltest would have been proud of him, that his King wouldn’t have hated him and his decisions–

Triss bit her lip and his stomach dropped like a stone.

“I think… honestly? I think if Foltest wasn’t proud, he would be wrong.” 

She spoke solemnly, staring into his eyes, and all Roche could do was blink. The words just didn’t compute. Foltest. Wrong? He couldn’t be, he was the _King._ Kings weren’t ever wrong. That’s just how it was.

“What?”

She licked her lips, clearly searching for the right words. “We both know there were areas where Foltest was...shortsighted, let’s say. He even welcomed our arguments over those things. Like when,” she licked her lips again, hesitating for just a moment before continuing, “when he wanted to roll back the punishment for rape, from a capital crime to a misdemeanor.” Triss couldn’t hold back the disgust in her voice, and Roche was right there with her, remembering the incident clearly.

“He was tired of having to deal with reports of soldiers being charged and sentenced to death because they’d raped an elf,” Roche said, recalling the weeks of arguing Foltest’s casual complaint had launched. 

Triss nodded. “He wanted to stop losing soldiers, and changing the punishment seemed an easy fix. He didn’t think about what the other consequences of doing that could be. He didn’t intend to harm anyone, he just didn’t know, not until we brought it to his attention.”

And they had. Roche remembered the way he’d lost his voice after the third day of adamantly arguing against the change in policy, remembered the way all he could think of at the time was how much worse his mother would have been treated if people feared no punishment. He remembered the sudden heartache as he realized that something that was so core to his own values was not something that Foltest held dear. He remembered thinking that consent meant nothing to a King, to one who had never – _would_ never – truly be told ‘no’.

He remembered how he had seriously considered resigning his commission and leaving Foltest’s service because of it. In the end, he’d like to think that that was partly why Foltest hadn’t gone through with the change – because he’d known what it meant to Roche, had known how much it would hurt him. Because he hadn’t wanted to lose him.

“I think this is like that,” Triss said softly. “I think...I think in this case, _you_ know what’s better for Temeria than he would have. Not because he wouldn’t have done his best, but because _you_ know her people in a way the King never could. You understood how much harm changing the punishment would have done, because you’ve lived through it.”

She squeezed his hand. “So yes, I know that Foltest would never have approved of Iorveth or of Saskia or of raising his children amongst nonhumans. But Foltest isn’t here. You did what you had to do in order to protect Temeria, _and you did the right thing,”_ she emphasized her words with another squeeze. “You pursued his killer. You saved his children. You’re raising them to be better people than we are. What else could any parent possibly ask for? Maybe Foltest wouldn’t like the way you did it, but you did what you had to and honestly? I don’t know that you could have done anything else and still saved them. And if part of why you decided to work with the Scoia’tael is because of Iorveth? Well, I guess maybe he’s not so bad, then.”

Roche digested that in silence for a long while, staring at the view over Triss’s shoulder as she held his hands softly, gently rubbing her thumbs over the backs of them. She let him think, just holding him, offering her support, and again, Roche felt emotion well up in his throat. 

“Thank you,” he rasped. “For – just, thank you.”

Triss smiled softly. “Always.” Then she nudged him, her smile turning mischievous, “hey, we survived Court together. We can survive anything.”

He laughed wetly. “Trial by fire.”

“Gods knows I was tempted to set things on fire more than once.”

They grinned at each other and Roche squeezed her hands in return. 

“So,” Triss said after a while, knocking her shoulder against his. “Love, huh?”

He swallowed. “I...yeah, I think I really do.”

“Can’t say I ever saw that coming, but I’m happy for you. Really,” she squeezed his hands again. “Does he–?”

Roche shrugged. “I mean, I think? Maybe? There’s at least a chance he might someday,” he realized, something in his chest expanding. “I’m good with that.”

Triss leaned in and hugged him again. “Good. You deserve some happiness, Vernon. And if Iorveth can give it to you? What was it you told me – ‘damn the torpedoes’?”

He laughed for real this time, remembering how torn up she’d been over the decision of whether to pursue an amnesiac Witcher. Roche still thought going for it had been the right move – and now the Witcher even had his memory back, apparently, and Geralt still wanted to be with Triss, because really, who wouldn’t? 

“Yeah,” he murmured to himself. “Damn the torpedoes.”

“What _are_ torpedoes, anyway?”

Roche blinked at her. “Oh, that’s right, you never joined the naval war campaigns, did you? Not that we had that many – mostly pirates, honestly – but yeah, the ships have these weapons called torpedoes. They’re basically bombs that get magically propelled through the water and explode on impact.”

“Huh. Wait, so what does ‘damn the torpedoes’ actually mean?”

“Triss,” he said slowly, “I gave you that advice _ages_ ago. Are you telling me that this whole time, you had no idea what I meant!?”

“No! I mean, I got it from the context, so like...not technically?” She grinned sheepishly.

He sighed heavily, shaking his head with half a laugh. “What did you get from context? Let’s see how wrong you are.”

“Hey!” Triss pinched the back of his hand. “Fuck the consequences and do it anyway?”

“Okay, yeah, pretty much,” he chuckled, wrapping an arm around Triss and leaning his head against her shoulder. “Thank you.”

She hugged him back tightly. “Always, seriously.” Her hand was cool around the back of his neck, and he relaxed against her, the emotional turmoil of the day weighing his shoulders down.

After a while of just sitting there, he finally felt ready to lift his head again and did so with a deep breath. Triss just smiled at him, letting her hand slide away.

“So I guess I should get to know Iorveth, huh? Geralt has some pretty good things to say about him, too.”

“He’s nothing like I expected,” Roche confirmed. “He’s – I’m hoping that by teaching the children Elder, they can learn to not be afraid of him.”

Triss nodded thoughtfully, “it’ll help as the people around them come to trust Iorveth more, too. Your and Saskia’s faith in him has counted for a lot.”

He exhaled heavily, “Brigida won’t be one of the trusting ones. Not for a long time, probably.”

“Well, that shouldn’t make co-parenting awkward at all.”

He glared at her and Triss shrugged. 

“Brigida will come around. She’s – I think we’re _all_ still learning to get comfortable around the Scoia’tael, but having them on the ship for the journey here helped. Geralt said he’s seen real signs that the rest of the Blue Stripes are also thinking about how people are affected by the jokes they make about things like skinning elves,” her nose wrinkled at the last bit, and Roche did have to admit, some of their jokes _did_ tend to get a bit graphic.

And yeah, on reflection, he could maybe see why joking about skinning another person might be alarming. Before, he would have argued that they were _elves,_ not people, but he knew better now. 

That thought caught in his head. He knew better now, he _knew_ that elves were people, just like anyone else. Had...had Foltest ever come to know that? 

But Roche knew the answer to that, of course. A man who wanted the extermination of nonhumans...no, he didn’t consider them people.

But that was _wrong._ He knew that now. But...that meant that _Foltest_ had been wrong.

Kings weren’t supposed to be wrong. Weren’t _able_ to be wrong. They were _Kings!_

But… Saskia was Queen of the Free Pontar Valley now, and she openly admitted that she didn’t know what she was doing and would be relying on the people around her. And Triss had said that Foltest would be wrong if he didn’t – if he wasn’t proud of Roche. 

The entire world felt like it was tilting on an axis.

Kings could be wrong. _Foltest_ had been wrong.

What was he supposed to do with that now?

“Ugh, I’m tired of thinking,” Roche rubbed his face. 

“If there was ever a time to indulge in anything that helps you lose yourself,” Triss said, trailing off with an arched eyebrow.

“Yeah,” he licked his lips. There _was_ one thing that always reliably took him out of his head, made him stop thinking. In the past, he would’ve gone to Foltest for it, but now… now he could find out what it would be like to do it with Iorveth, and just the prospect made something warm flutter in his chest.

“Want me to portal you anywhere specific? I, uh, I might’ve heard a rumor that Iorveth now has his own office in the Castle of the Three Fathers.”

“Yeah,” Roche decided, “yeah, can you bring me near Iorveth?”

Triss nodded and swirled her hands through the air, creating a portal in front of them. Roche took a final look around the beautiful view the mountain peak provided, then turned and stepped through to the stone ramps leading into the Castle of the Three Fathers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So apparently the saying “Damn the torpedoes” is a very American saying (which makes sense, as it came from American naval history https://www.warhistoryonline.com/american-civil-war/damn-torpedoes-full-speed-ahead.html.)  
> But yeah, hopefully this cleared that up a bit. It’s essentially a way of saying “I know it’s risky, but damn the consequences and do it anyway”.
> 
> Also, want some more pain? Have Iorveth's POV of this chapter in [Between Two Fools Chapter 2](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26788936/chapters/65430454).


	19. Arc 3: Scoia'tael Rift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roche needs to get out of his head, so he asks Iorveth to help him.

Triss dropping him off at the Castle of the Three Fathers was great – except, Roche belatedly realized, she’d never actually told him where Iorveth’s office _was._ Which was why he was working on psyching himself up to knock on Saskia’s door. Because it wasn’t weird to ask your new Queen where your lover was so that you could get fucked out of your mind.

Oh gods, he couldn’t ask her. He turned on his heel to pace away down the corridor, but… how else would he find out where Iorveth was? He wasn’t just going to start trying doors.

He spun around and headed back towards her door before his courage failed him again. 

At that moment, the heavy wooden door swung open and Saskia faced him with an unimpressed look. “Whatever you’re worrying over, please just tell me,” she said.

Roche blinked at her. “You… knew I was out here.”

“My hearing is quite good,” Saskia shrugged. “And you cast a shadow under the door.”

“Ah. Right.” He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Um, I – uh – I was actually looking for, uh, forIorveth,” he said in a rush.

Saskia arched an eyebrow at him, lips twitching into a smile. “Next door. Oh – you should know, Ciaran returned with the refugees from Loc Muinne. I’m having them set up a temporary camp inside the gate while housing is arranged for those who choose to stay in the city.”

“Oh,” Roche blinked, “ah, great. I’ll have my men keep an eye on things in the camp, see if we can’t spot any troublemakers before things happen.”

Saskia tilted her head, “you automatically assume there will be trouble?”

“Don’t you? Uh, I mean, I’m used to being prepared for anything. More information is better than less, so,” he shrugged, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

“Mm, you are correct. How about I work to prepare for anything, and you work to remember that these people are welcomed here. They’ve just lost everything – I know that can drive some to desperate actions, but it is also an opportunity for us to show kindness.”

Roche scratched his head. “Gotta admit, I got a lot less experience in the ‘kindness’ department. I’m – I mean, typically I’m the one getting information after kindness has decidedly failed.” He mimed punching someone and Saskia’s lips tightened. 

“I know,” she said. “And perhaps it is true that services like yours are required for a kingdom. But is it so frightening to imagine a world where that isn’t necessary? We must all strive for something – why not strive for the best vision of the future we can manage?”

“Uh, I’ll try?”

Saskia smiled in response, “that is all I can ask. Ah, can you give this to Iorveth for me?” She held out a parchment with scribbles all over it that looked more like a flowing doodle than a language.

“Is that Elder?” he asked, starting to get concerned that he was getting in over his head on this language thing.

“It is,” Saskia said. “Just a report for him. Please see that he gets it.” She winked at him and then turned back to her desk. 

Roche blinked stupidly for a few seconds before turning to leave. “Uh, bye.”

“Goodbye, Vernon.”

He found himself flushing without quite knowing why as he backed out of Saskia’s office and moved to the next door down to knock.

“What?” a tired voice asked, and Roche frowned.

“Got a report from Saskia for you,” he said, glad to actually have a reason. “Can I come in?”

There was a moment’s silence and then the door was opening to reveal Iorveth looking – 

“Whoa,” Roche breathed, taking in the sight of Iorveth wearing not his standard armor, but a very elven robe with a long v-neck collar and wow, the peek of the ivy tattoo made him want to follow it all the way down Iorveth’s body again.

“Vernon?” Iorveth asked, a note of surprise in his voice.

“Ah, hi. Can I come in?”

Iorveth arched an eyebrow and stepped back, waving his arm to gesture Roche inside, and the fabric of the long sleeve of Iorveth’s earth-toned robes swung through the air, drawing his eye. Roche stepped inside, passing the parchment from Saskia to Iorveth. 

Iorveth didn’t even glance at it before setting it aside on his desk. “Why are you here?” he asked.

Roche swallowed, licking his lips. Asking for what he needed was always the hardest part of it. “I, um… I was hoping you could help me get out of _my_ head,” he said in a rush and something like shock passed over Iorveth’s face briefly before he stopped being able to read Iorveth’s expression.

He frowned, reaching out to cup Iorveth’s face. “Iorveth? You okay?”

Iorveth startled just the slightest amount at his touch and Roche immediately pulled his hand back. Before he could go far, though, Iorveth’s hand snagged his and held it tight.

“Yeah, ‘m fine,” Iorveth said, “I – what do you need?”

He licked his lips and met Iorveth’s gaze with his best pleading eyes, “fuck my face?”

Iorveth inhaled sharply, blinking rapidly. “Yeah, of course.” He scoffed, “make it sound like a fucking ordeal. Who wouldn’t jump to be offered your mouth?”

Roche’s smile spread across his face before he’d even realized it. “Consider it ever on offer to you.”

Iorveth’s breath hitched, and the elf bit his lip before reaching out to cup Roche’s face, a thumb brushing across his lower lip. Then the thumb was followed by Iorveth’s kiss, soft and yearning and so very sweet, Roche almost felt like crying. He lapped up everything Iorveth was willing to give him eagerly, lifting his hands to grip the front of Iorveth’s robe, pulling them closer together. 

Iorveth reached up and tossed his chaperon aside, burying fingers in his hair and pulling his head back so that Iorveth could bite at his lips and suck on his tongue. There was something desperate in Iorveth’s touch and Roche found himself submitting to Iorveth’s guidance automatically. 

When Iorveth pushed down, it was the easiest thing in the world to drop to his knees and open his mouth in offer. Iorveth bit his lip, looking down at him with a heated gaze. But instead of drawing his robes aside, Iorveth moved back to his desk and sat down, summoning Roche after him with a single beckoning finger. 

Since he was already on his knees, it made sense to crawl towards Iorveth, and it had the bonus of making Iorveth’s breath hitch. Iorveth pulled his robes up and parted the fabric, exposing his slowly hardening cock. Roche licked his lips, creeping forward until he could place his hands on Iorveth’s knees. Then he nuzzled closer, pressing his face against Iorveth’s pelvis and Iorveth’s hand stroked through his hair.

“Get me hard,” Iorveth ordered, and Roche eagerly wrapped his lips around Iorveth’s cock, suckling at it gently and teasing it with his tongue.

It didn’t take long for Iorveth’s cock to grow in his mouth, forcing his lips wider. Once Iorveth was fully hard, the elf gripped his hair tightly and thrust up _hard._ He choked, tears welling in his eyes and with the way his limps felt heavy, it was the easiest thing in the world to obey Iorveth’s commands and let his hands drop, let his body relax into the push of gravity, trusting Iorveth to pull him off when he needed.

Iorveth let out a low sound, his hips fucking up into Roche’s mouth rapidly. Roche hummed around Iorveth, reveling in the slight ache developing in his throat. His voice would be raspy for the rest of the day, and the prospect made him shiver and moan around Iorveth.

With a low gasp, Iorveth held him down against Iorveth’s pelvis and the cock in his mouth pulsed in orgasm, forcing his cheeks wider as he struggled to swallow it all down. Even so, some dribbled out of lips, and Iorveth’s thumb swiped it away, pushing against the corner of his mouth until he took Iorveth’s thumb and his cock. He moaned, shuddering and lapping at Iorveth’s thumb.

“Fuck, Vernon,” Iorveth whimpered. 

Roche kept suckling at Iorveth’s cock and thumb, and even though Iorveth squirmed from overstimulation, he didn’t pull Roche off. His cock slowly softened until Roche’s mouth wasn’t stretched quite so wide, and Iorveth withdrew his thumb, cupping Roche’s cheek.

“You need to stay here a while?”

Roche whined in answer, eyes fluttering open lazily.

“All right. Under my desk – you can warm my cock while I get work done.”

Iorveth’s words made him shudder and the casual way Iorveth accepted this need had him humming in pleasure. He moved when Iorveth’s feet nudged him, and before long, Iorveth gripped his hair to position him with his body draped across Iorveth’s legs. 

Roche floated, suckling at the soft cock in his mouth and absently noticing the scratch of quill against paper and the shuffle of paper as Iorveth truly did get to work. Iorveth’s hand gently stroked through his hair and he sighed, letting himself enjoy this space where politics and race and war didn’t exist.

The knock at the door was very much _not_ appreciated, nor was the way it swung open before Roche could do anything but blink muzzily, jarred by his sudden return to reality.

Iorveth’s hand in his hair tightened enough to make him wince and he released Iorveth’s cock from his mouth, bracing himself for whatever was coming.

“Iorveth,” a cold voice said and it took Roche a long minute to connect that voice with Ciaran. He’d never heard the elf say Iorveth’s name without some measure of awe and deference before. 

“Ciaran,” Iorveth said tightly, “I take it the refugees have arrived safely, then.”

Ciaran responded in Elder, and Roche had never wished so badly that he understood the language. From the tone and the tension in Iorveth’s body, whatever was being said was nothing good.

Roche felt rather tense himself, all his earlier relaxation having long since fled. Ciaran’s voice grew louder, more emphatic, and he couldn’t understand a damn word being said, but Iorveth’s voice was filled with so much _pain,_ and Roche wished he could just do _something._

Then Ciaran laughed, a startling and harsh noise that sounded scraped from his throat, and said in Common, “I should tell the world what you are. How long do you think your ‘let’s all get along’ logic will stand up once everyone knows you love a _human_ !? _That_ human!?”

Roche’s breath froze in his chest. Love. Iorveth loved him? Could that actually be true?

“Ciaran, please–” Iorveth said desperately and reality bashed through Roche’s hopes again. Whether or not Iorveth actually _did_ love him (please?), Ciaran _knowing_ about it couldn’t be good.

Ciaran laughed again. “That you deign to beg shows how very far you have fallen. The only reason I don’t is because those young fools out there who still believe in you don’t deserve that. In return, you shall not oppose the building of an elf-only enclave run by myself.”

Roche could hear the rasp of Iorveth’s breathing as the elf grit out, “agreed. You should know–”

“No,” Ciaran cut him off. “I have no interest in your words. Any future interaction I must have with Vergen, you will _not_ be part of. You were the pride of the Scoia’tael. Now you’re nothing but a–” and then he said the last word in Elder, but Roche was pretty sure it was the same word Ciaran had thrown at Iorveth back in Loc Muinne. The one that Geralt had said mean “human fucker” or “human sympathizer”. 

Somehow, Roche didn’t think Ciaran was saying “sympathizer”.

The door slammed shut, and Roche was starting to get concerned at the way Iorveth hadn’t moved. In fact, Iorveth seemed to be – oh, fuck, he was defiitely hyperventilating.

Roche reached out to put a hand on Iorveth’s knee, just to remind Iorveth that he was there, thinking about how to get Iorveth’s breathing back down – only then Iorveth threw himself away from Roche violently, staggering back against the wall.

“Iorveth–”

“Don’t,” Iorveth snarled, “don’t touch me!” Iorveth’s hands clutched at his head and Roche bit his lip. 

He reached out again, moving slowly and telegraphing his moves. “Iorveth–”

Iorveth growled, slapping Roche’s hand away. “Get out.”

“C’mon, Iorveth–”

“Get out!” Iorveth yelled, “fuck!” The elf picked up a paperweight and hurled it at the wall

Roche winced as the glass shattered, raining down with little tinkling sounds as they hit the ground. “Iorveth–” 

Iorveth rounded on him, hauling up another paperweight, “this is your fault! I just lost everything, and for what? Get out!” 

Roche’s breath caught in his chest, even as he held his hands out placatingly. _For what_ Iorveth asked, as if the time they spent together was _nothing,_ was entirely meaningless.

Apparently Iorveth was emphatic about wanting to be alone, because he picked up another paperweight and threw it at the wall near Roche, and Roche ducked on instinct. Iorveth snarled, picking up the last paperweight, and Roche decided this was a case where valor was the better part of discretion – so he hurried out the door, sending a last, concerned look at the elf he saw crumple to the floor.

Saskia’s office door was already open, the Dragonslayer emerging with a look of concern on her face, and Roche turned to her desperately. “Help him, please. He’s – he needs someone. Please.”

Saskia smiled sadly at him. “Of course,” she said softly before slipping into Iorveth’s office. Through the open door, Roche could see Iorveth sitting on the floor, covering his face as rough sobs pulled from his chest – and then the door’s weight pulled it closed again and Roche was left standing in the middle of the Castle of the Three Fathers, feeling awkward and uncomfortable and scared and worried and – fuck, Iorveth was right though. This _was_ his fault. _He_ was the reason why Iorveth’s most dedicated Scoia’tael had turned on him, and how was Roche supposed to live with that?

How was Iorveth supposed to _forgive_ him that?

But Iorveth would… right? He just needed some time. Surely… surely once Iorveth had calmed down and Saskia had helped soothe him, Iorveth would still want him, right?

Ciaran had _said_ Iorveth loved him. If Ciaran was right… 

Gods, he hoped Ciaran was right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Interested in what's going through Iorveth's head during this? Check out [Between Two Fools Chapter 3](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26788936/chapters/65475871)!


	20. Arc 3: Triss, Geralt, and Luka

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roche struggles to figure out what to do now. He doesn't want to lose Iorveth, so surely there's _something_ he can do to show Iorveth it's worth staying with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit, this chapter is gonna break 100k words on this fic!?!?!? What the fuck, when did that happen!?  
> I didn’t even know I could write this much, but thanks for being with me on this crazy ride as this fic CONTINUES to expand. There are… a lot of chapters left. We're like... beginning of the 3rd part, and there are about 5... for now. It might blow up again lmao.

Roche didn’t sneak over to Iorveth’s house that night. He knew, realistically, that it didn’t mean anything, that it wasn’t a sign of times to come. Iorveth needed space, but he would come back...right?

Ciaran had said Iorveth _loved_ him. If...if there was any chance it was true, surely Iorveth would come back. Even… even though things were going so wrong for Iorveth right now, _surely_ he would come back to Roche. Maybe Roche could even find a way to help.

Iorveth would come back. He had to.

The uncertainty had Roche tossing and turning in bed that night until Brigida threw a pillow at his head from across the room.

“If you can’t sleep quietly, then you can get the fuck out,” Brigida snarled, and Roche swallowed, wishing desperately that he could undo the whole day and go back to that morning, when he’d woken with Iorveth in his arms and the troubles of the world had felt far away. Before he’d ruined his relationship with Brigida, before things had gone wrong with Iorveth, before any of it.

He closed his eyes, begging sleep to come, but his mind just continued cycling through the events of the day and eventually, he pulled himself up with a huff. Shoving his boots on and stepping outside before Brigida could bark at him again, Roche breathed in the night air and wondered where the hell he should go. 

The Blue Stripes would welcome him into their cuddle pile, of course, but then his restlessness would keep them _all_ up and that’s the last thing he needed. What he _really_ needed was to talk about this whole mess, but it was the middle of the night.

Well, it wouldn’t be the first time he’d barged in on Triss in the middle of the night. She was staying at the inn, so he could even stop and get her a bottle of wine in apology for it.

Roche actually managed to find his way to the inn without getting lost, for which he was extremely proud of himself. So it was with the slightest swagger in his steps that he stepped into the still-bustling-even-at-this-hour inn and looked around.

“Welcome, welcome!” The innkeeper shouted from next to the door, topping off a pint of ale and passing it over to a server. “In need of a room?”

“Actually,” Roche cleared his throat, “I’m looking for the sorceress Triss Merigold. I know she’s staying here, but don’t know which room.”

“Merigold, huh?” The dwarf hummed to themselves, paging through their record book. “Ah! Staying with the Witcher! They’re in the best room! Seltkirk himself stayed there, you know?”

“...who?”

The dwarf looked mildly offended, “Seltkirk! Our great commander three years ago, when Henself tried to take this land. For the first time, pah!” The innkeeper spat, then grinned, revealing several missing teeth. “We showed him then and we showed him now! Ain’t no King that can match our Saskia!”

Roche found himself smiling back, “yeah, she’s pretty singular.” He licked his lips, “so, uh, where is that room?”

“Ah! Straight back, first door dead ahead.”

“Thanks. And uh, what wine do you have for sale?” 

Five minutes later, and coin pouch notably lighter, Roche walked past the busy tavern and through the door back to the sleeping rooms, carrying a nice bottle of red from Vengerberg. Admittedly, he probably should have waited for his knock to be acknowledged before barging through Triss’s door, but there was really no reason for her startled yelp.

“Triss! I need your help! I brought wine in payment!”

“Roche!” Triss’s voice had a high note of something in it, and she pulled the sheets up to her neck, even though she was sitting against the headboard. As if he’d never seen her in her nightclothes before, but whatever.

“I think I fucked up bad, Triss. Or...something? I need to figure out what to do. I can’t–” he bit his lip, cutting himself off before he could finish, _I can’t lose him._

“What happened?” Triss asked, her voice still a little strange, but nothing Roche couldn’t ignore in the face of everything he’d thought he could have crumbling before him.

“I don’t _know!”_ Roche said, pretending his voice wasn’t something approaching a wail as he paced around her room. “Things were good, and then he was a little weird and then fucking Ciaran came back and I dunno what they argued about, but it was definitely bad and I’m pretty sure it’s at least partially because of me? He – he called Iorveth that word again, the one Geralt said meant–” he couldn’t seem to say it, of all the ridiculous things to happen.

Still, Triss appeared to be able to put the clues together. “Iorveth’s second in command knows about you?” she asked in alarm, shoulders shuddering against the headboard.

Roche nodded solemnly. “I – Iorveth was obviously fucked up from that and I think – I _hope_ he just needs space, you know? But like, what if he doesn’t? What if he changes his mind about all of this? I can’t – I need…” he tilted his head, half a thought suddenly occurring to him. “We kinda started all of this backwards. Maybe...if he’s not sure, maybe I just gotta _convince_ him, right?”

“Uh…” Triss said helpfully.

“Yeah,” Roche agreed with himself, “yeah, that makes sense. He doesn’t get why I – well. And if I _show_ him…” he chewed on his lip, examining the idea in his mind. “Yeah, yeah, that would be good. So,” he turned back to Triss, “do you know anything about elven courting?”

She blinked at him. “You’re – _you_ are going to court _Iorveth?”_

“Well, why not?” he crossed his arms. “I – I mean, you know, I’m – with him. And he’s losing everything. Why _not_ show that he doesn’t have to lose – well, me.”

“Uh,” Triss stuttered, “I mean, sure, why not? If you’re sure…”

Roche jerked his chin in a nod forcefully. “I am.” 

And he was. He’d admitted to himself what he felt. And Ciaran _said_ Iorveth felt the same. Surely, if he could just show Iorveth that this was worth it, Iorveth would still be willing.

Right?

Roche just had to show him properly, in a way he couldn’t misunderstand. 

Which, admittedly, would be easier if he knew the first thing about elven courting. Or elven relationships at all, actually.

“So, do you know anything about elven culture or courting that could help?”

“I – Vernon, I’d love to help, I really would, but _now_ isn’t exactly the best – _oh!”_ Triss’s neck arched with a gasp, her head thumping against the headboard.

Roche blinked at her. Her face was flushed and her arms where she clutched the bedsheets to her neck were bare. He blinked again. Wait… something wasn’t right here… 

Had she just–?

There was movement under the covers and then Geralt emerged, face clearly wet with what _must_ have been Triss’s – oh _fuck,_ what had Roche walked in on?

He sputtered, desperately searching for words and pointedly ignoring the way his own ears had turned bright red and there was undoubtedly a pink flush extending up his own neck and oh gods, he was – he had just seen Triss _orgasm_ and it was totally not inappropriate to be reacting the way he was, except for the part where it really, really was.

Geralt licked his lips and turned to Roche with an arched eyebrow. “Just go to the fucking library. I’m sure they have all kinds of books on elven courting.”

Roche stared, eyes automatically tracing Geralt’s tongue when it flicked out to lick Triss off his face and oh fuck, Roche really needed to get out of here _right now._

“I – um –– library. Right. I’ll just – uh, you...have fun? I – sorry, fuck, I’m just gonna–” he pointed vaguely towards the door and tried to stumble back through it, but he couldn’t seem to take his eyes away from the way Geralt’s gaze never left his, even as the Witcher leaned down and licked up Triss’s exposed torso, and oh, Triss’s blush went _all_ the way down her chest and wow, her nipples were really pointed and he kind of wanted to–

Finally, his fingers closed around the doorknob and he dragged himself out of the room, feeling hot and confused and uncomfortably turned on.

“Library,” he said to himself, staring at the closed door. Distantly, he could hear Geralt’s rough amused chuckles, low and reverberating through the stone and he wondered what that would feel like against–

Yeah, okay, he needed to get out of here. Now.

The fresh air as he stumbled out of the inn hit him like a bucket of water to the face, and he had to take a moment to just sit down and breathe at the tables so thoughtfully arranged outside. 

Library. Right, Saskia wanted him to talk to the library archivist, anyway. Roche could do that. He just...had to find the library. 

The bottle of wine was still clutched in his hand, and without really thinking about it, Roche yanked out the cork and swallowed several mouthfuls. 

“All good there, mate?” a human in a fraying tunic asked. “You look a bit, uh…”

“Yeah,” Roche rasped, taking another swig of wine. “Say...you wouldn’t happen to know where the library is, would you?”

The human gave him an odd look, but shrugged. “It’s under the Castle of the Three Fathers. Biggest fucking book collection I’ve ever seen, but the glow worms on the ceiling freak me out, honestly. If you go to the train station below the Castle, you’ll see a passage down – that leads to the library.”

Roche repeated the instructions to himself, mouthing the words as he thought. He was...marginally sure he could find that. Probably.

He was even starting to find the trains less terrifying. Still completely horrible and he was pretty sure he parts of him had been left behind from the speed, but at least he knew what to expect now.

“Thank you,” he nodded to the human, and they shrugged and entered the inn.

Roche breathed out a heavy sigh, pulling himself to his feet. The night air was still cool against his face, which meant he must still be blushing, but he at least felt able to think straight now. Or, well, able to _not_ think about certain things, anyway.

The wine helped, too. It even made the train...well, more nauseating, actually, but Roche had lived for years eating the food his men cooked. He had a steel stomach and no stupid train was going to change that.

Probably.

Eventually, he stumbled off the train at the station for the Castle of the Three Fathers, and followed the human’s directions down the corridor and finally came upon the largest stone doors he’d ever seen. Roche grabbed the doorknob and tried to open the doors, but they were fucking heavy!

Why the fuck did dwarves need such big doors, anyway? They were shorter than humans! 

“It’s push, not pull,” a deadpan voice called from inside, and when Roche tried again, instead of the entire huge door opening, a smaller rectangular portion of it swung open.

“Well what’s the point of the big doors, then?” Roche grumbled, not at all embarrassed that he’d needed help getting inside.

“It’s symbolic,” the same deadpan voice continued. Roche looked around a spotted a dwarf with the curliest hair he had ever seen. Their hair formed tight ringlets all around their head, poofing out to give them a broader profile. Their beard was curly too, long and neatly styled to fall down their chest in corkscrew shaped curls. 

“Symbolic of what?”

“Of the journey of knowledge,” the dwarf said, finally looking up from the book they’d been perusing with a sigh. “It’s a metaphor. The doors as a whole represent the world that knowledge and reading can open for you. But the entrance – the entrance shows that the entry to that world need not be an obstacle. Here at the Vergen library, we aim to make knowledge accessible for everyone – dwarf, elf, or human. Now,” the dwarf set the book aside and assessed Roche with an unimpressed gaze, “what can I do for you?”

“Uh,” Roche swallowed. “Are you the library archivist. Uh, Luka...something?”

“Luka Harren,” the dwarf nodded. “Do you need something in particular?”

“Uh, actually, Saskia asked me to look into some stuff about Nilfgaard. But uh, first,” he bit his lip, wondering if asking would admit too much. Still, the library truly was massive – a towering cavern lit with the glow worms the human had talked about that stretched so far out that Roche couldn’t see an end to the rows of bookcases. There was no way he’d be able to find what he was looking for on his own.

“Yes?”

“Do you have anything about, uh, about elven courting?” he murmured the last bit quietly, but the dwarf, Luka, seemed to have no trouble understanding him.

“Mmm, I’d heard we had a new influx of elves, but I’ve yet to see them here,” Luka nodded. “Scoia’tael, someone said, so I suppose I should hardly be surprised. Young fanatics – probably think there’s no time for books. Fools.”

“Uh.”

“Follow me,” Luka curled two fingers in a summoning motion and turned to step onto some sort of slightly raised platform that had a metal pole sticking out of it.

“Um, okay,” Roche said in confusion, stepping onto the platform with Luka. Then Luka grasped the metal pole and did _something_ and they were suddenly rolling forward across the library. Roche yelped, the movement catching him off guard and he spun his arms wildly to try to balance until Luka grabbed his shirt and dragged him to his knees.

“Humans, honestly,” Luka shook their head.

“What is it with this place and everything _moving!?”_

Luka just blinked up at him. “Of course it moves. How else would we get around?”

“...walking?”

“And what about those who can’t walk? Or can only walk so far? I’ve heard humans are much less advanced in these areas, but really, how shocking can it be? With a city as large as Vergen, _of course_ we found faster ways to get around.” Luka snorted, _“walking._ Really.”

“I mean, Vizima is pretty big and we do all right walking.” Roche wasn’t sure why he felt like he needed to defend human cities, but he did.

“Ha! And how long does it take you to get from one end of the city to another? No no, our way is clearly better.” Luka twisted the pole in their grasp and the platform they were on turned to the right, heading between tall bookcases that Roche couldn’t see the tops of. 

“How...how do you even reach those?” There was a low sense of awe in his voice that he couldn’t seem to help, but Roche could honestly say he’d never seen so many books in one place. And Vizima’s library was no small thing, either.

“With this, of course,” Luka waved at the platform they were standing on. “Mechanics and magic – you just tell it where to go, and it goes, whether that’s across the floor or up one of the stacks. Now,” Luka twisted their hand and the platform slowly approached one bookcase. 

There was an odd clicking sound as the platform apparently attached itself to the bookcase and then, when Luka pulled on the metal pole, they were suddenly rising through the air, crawling up the bookcase until Roche was a little bit scared to look down at the floor.

“This is the elven culture section right here. For something on courting rituals, hmm, let’s see,” Luka ran their fingers across the spines of half the books on the shelf before, “ah! Yes, this one should do for you. Reading in the Common tongue, I assume?”

“Yeah.”

“Good good. Now, what in particular are you looking for? This one here,” Luka pulled out a massive tome that Roche honestly wasn't sure he’d be able to lift, “this is an overview of everything – how courting fits into the broader culture, the origins of different practices and traditions, regional variations, all of it.”

“Um...maybe something a little...easier?” Roche asked, eyeing the book with trepidation.

Luka just raised an eyebrow.

“I’m looking for, uh...I dunno, I guess...how to court an elf?” He scratched the back of his head awkwardly, suddenly realizing that he’d never put his chaperon on. How did he keep forgetting that?

Luka cocked a bushy eyebrow. “Courting an elf, huh? Good luck.” The dwarf chuckled lightly, though there was no condescension in their voice. “Let’s see...hmm, this one may work for you.” 

Luke pulled out a slimmer book this time, something much more likely to actually get read. Roche reached out to take it, flipping through the crisp pages. There were pictures of flowers and plants on many pages and Roche had a sinking feeling he was going to have to learn how to tell all those different plants apart.

“This will tell me what to do?” Roche asked to confirm.

“Aye. The summary on the history of courting tradition is a bit lackluster, missing some nuance and depth in my opinion, but it should give you a decent overview.”

“Thank you.”

“Anything else you need?” Luka asked.

“Uh, not right now, I think. I’ll be back, probably.” Definitely, really, but now he was starting to worry about the fact that Luka clearly knew he was pursuing an elf. What if they let something slip in front of...well, _anyone?_ “Um, could you...not mention this to anyone? It’s just...elves and humans, you know…”

“Of course, of course,” Luka waved their hand casually, reaching out to guide the platform back down to the floor. “A customer’s business is their own. I am simply here to unleash the world of _knowledge.”_ They gestured expansively to the library, an awed look on their face. 

“Um. Okay.”

Luka turned to him with a frown, a judging look on their face. “Do you not read much?”

“I mean...mostly paperwork? And I guess I tell a lot of stories these days…”

Luka perked up. “Oh? A storyteller? I’m always looking to expand our selection, you know. Unlike silly elven or human philosophies, dwarves _know_ that stories change and evolve, and our library must keep up with that. Why, we have some one-of-a-kind recordings from before the Conjunction! And a whole section for young craftsmen and storytellers to share their works! We have the entire catalogue of the great writer Esteban of Sodden’s works, from his early days as a young artist to his seminal work on the great agricultural revolution of the 1100s.”

Roche blinked. “Uh, I mean, I just tell stories to the kids? Mostly ones my mom used to tell or whatever I can make up.”

Luka chuckled, “my dear human, what do you think books are if not stories put to page? Any story worth telling is worth writing down so it can be told again and again!”

Roche cleared his throat, “okay, I mean, uh, I will do that...sometime. I guess I was gonna write my mom for more of her stories. The kids are fucking demanding.”

Luka chuckled, “children often are, no matter the species. Which reminds me, we have a daily storytelling corner for kids, if you’re ever interested in attending. The library also hosts lessons on a number of subjects – you can see the full list at the check out desk in the front.”

“Oh, um, cool. Is the storytelling in Elder or in Common? We haven’t actually started Elder lessons yet, so they wouldn’t understand.”

“Depends on what language the original story was written in,” Luka shrugged, “the whole point is for the kids to learn to enjoy reading and learning. I do most of the tellings, and I’m fluent in both, so I really just go by what the kids need. But we do sometimes have guest tellers, and they may not always tell their stories in both languages.”

Roche blinked. “In...both? How do you do that?”

“Oh!” Luka clapped their hands together excitedly, “bilingual storytelling is an art form in and of itself and I am proud to consider myself a master in it! It’s all about weaving the tale so that both languages individually receive the full story, but _also_ so that those who understand both languages get something special out of it. It’s truly a lot of fun.”

Luka grinned at him and Roche found himself somewhat reluctantly smiling back. “That sounds pretty cool. Would it help them learn Elder? I don’t think they’ve really been exposed to it before.”

“Yes,” Luka nodded excitedly, “it would both familiarize them with hearing Elder spoken and give them a sense of what different phrases mean. Though, I should note, the translation isn’t exact. The point is to tell a _story,_ so the same phrase in one language to another might not mean the same thing. But! We do have some children’s books in Elder that might be a good place for your children to start learning to translate themselves!”

“I think that might be a little advanced for us just yet. We literally haven’t even started the first lesson. But I’ll definitely keep it in mind. Boussy would probably _love_ this library – for the crazy moving platforms, if nothing else.”

Luka blinked. “Boussy...La Valette? Saskia’s apprentice?”

“Ah. Um, yeah?”

“It would be an honor to meet the children Saskia considers worth of succeeding her,” Luka said, bowing slightly as they stepped off the platform. Roche hadn’t even noticed that it had brought them back to the front near the huge doors again.

“I’ll be sure to bring them. Uh, is there like a reading area here or something?”

Luka cocked an eyebrow and wordlessly pointed behind Roche, where he’d apparently missed the large seating area to the right of the giant doors. Armchairs and couches were spread out in a cozy circle around what looked like a bowl of glowing rocks.

“Uh…”

“What, humans don’t have glow stones?” Luka asked, face innocent. Then they cackled and nudged Roche, “no, I’m kidding, the only stones that glow naturally are radioactive. Nah, these are just covered in luminescent algae. The algae seeks out the hot coals, providing a semi-non-flammable heat _and_ light source. Ingenious, no? And I don’t just say that because they were my idea.”

“It – yeah, it’s pretty cool,” Roche shrugged, sneaking forward to peer into the braiser. Between the algae-covered coal and the glow worms that covered the distant ceiling and walls, Roche wagered he should be able to see well enough to read. 

Of course, he should probably return to the house and actually get some sleep, but now that the idea had occurred to him and the knowledge was literally at his fingertips, how could Roche resist diving in?

He settled into an armchair next to the light and cracked the book open, immediately getting assaulted with the crisp, musty smell of aged parchment. It reminded him of long rainy days spent in Foltest’s study, especially back when it was still Foltest’s father’s study, when Roche and Brigida were special for being permitted to spend time with the prince and princess. The sounds of Luka bustling around the library turned to then-Princess Adda’s laugh in his ears, and he smiled, thinking about more recent days spent with Adda’s daughter, Adda the White, before she was forced to marry King Radovid in Redania.

Had Adda learned about her half-siblings? Roche should really tell them about each other – but with Adda’s marriage to Radovid, was it safe to connect them?

He would have to think about that later, and confer with Triss and Brigida. Until then, he turned to the intro and began to read.

_Aen Seidhe, it is widely know, are intrinsically connected to nature. Indeed, their creation stories often involve the first elves being carved from the Tree of Life itself. So it should be unsurprising that nature plays a prominent role in their courtship rituals. Typically, this takes two forms: Language and Cultivation._

_When hearing the term “flower language”, it is not uncommon for the human reader to recall romantic stories told by bards the world over about elven roses of remembrance and symbols of true love. While there are traces of fact amongst these tales and gifting a rose of remembrance has been a common ritual in times past, the dearth of elven gardens and the colonization of former elven settlements has rendered that tradition largely to history._

_However, roses of remembrance are far from the only flowers with meaning. Indeed, not only are flowers prized for their versatile ability to communicate a message, but_ all _parts of a plant have meaning to elves. Roots and leaves each bear their own importance, and most commonly a suitor will combine flowering and non-flowering plants to create their message._

_There are some regional variations amongst flower meanings, but some of the most common plants and definitions are listed below._

Roche scanned the list, hoping at least one of the names might actually be recognizable. Aloe – that was the one that was good for burns, wasn’t it? Pillow Tits was always talking about wishing he could just carry the plant around. The fresh leaves were best for treating burns, Roche recalled. He’d learned that the same mission he’d learned that Shorty should never be left in charge of meal prep, despite the fact that his wife ran a very successful restaurant in Vizima. 

_Aloe – affection, grief_

Roche blinked. Well, what did that mean? How could it mean both affection _and_ grief? Pursing his lips, he continued to scan the list. 

Basil! He knew what that was! Apparently it meant good wishes, which wasn’t quite the message he was going for. Gods, why had he never paid attention when people talked about plants?

_Pink Camellia – Longing for You_

_Red Camellia – You’re a Flame in My Heart_

_White Camellia – You’re adorable_

Camellia! Well, that was perfect. He could get Iorveth some camellias. The picture helpfully included was small, but the flower looked – well, flowery enough. It had a lot of layers and a full bloom, kind of like a rose, so that would help Roche find it. He hoped.

Skipping down the rest of the list – and wow, there were a _lot_ of “common” plants that he’d never heard of – he turned a few pages until the description continued again.

_In addition to language, the cultivation of plants is an important aspect of elven courting. Elves are said to be able to shape plants to their will, and whether this is an exaggeration or not, there are certainly ways to guide the shape in which a plant grows. That is the key to courting – the more complex the shape and healthier the plant, the better a suitor appears before their beloved. Thus, the gift of a hand-grown plant has deep meaning, as both a symbol that one can cultivate life and that the suitors values their beloved enough to bestow upon them a living plant._

Roche bit his lip. He could hardly tell plants apart – how could he possibly grow one himself? And didn’t that take, like, a really long time?

He scanned the next several paragraphs all about the importance of gardening and the deep meaning of growing life, and finally found a small note.

_For the odd elf whose green thumb is more of a muddy color, shaping or carving wood is considered an acceptable, though much more uncommon, gift._

Well, that was more doable. Roche knew the basics of carving – anyone who spent any down time with Finch was likely to learn them – but he hadn’t had a lot of practice. Still, surely he could make something nice and simple for Iorveth. 

While he worked on that, there certainly had to be _something_ he could do for Iorveth that wouldn’t require nonexistent skills. He flipped to the back of the book and carded through the pages, hoping pictures would pop out to help him.

A drawing of a hair comb with little blue flowers had him stopping, spreading the page open before him. 

_Hair is extremely intimate to elves. To be asked to braid or brush hair is a significant honor – or scandalously seductive, depending on the courtship stage. It is for this reason that hair accessories are traditional betrothal gifts. These hair accessories may be combs, clips, pins, beads, or anything else of that sort, and the suitor traditionally decorates them with the receiver’s favorite flower or a plant with some romantic meaning. If the receiver chooses to accept the betrothal, they will wear the accessory in their hair._

Oh. Well, apparently he hadn’t been wrong when he’d asked Iorveth if touching an elf’s hair was taboo back in Loc Muinne. But Iorveth _had_ let him touch it. Surely… surely that meant something.

He’d actually _bought_ a hairpin for Iorveth at the market on one of his trips, but from the sound of it, maybe he should save that until… well, it wasn’t that _he_ was uncertain about what he felt. But if Iorveth wasn’t sure, it would be best not to push too hard too fast. That was fine – it wasn’t like the hairpin was going anywhere. But that still left him unsure of where to _start_ with this whole courting thing.

Roche flicked through a few more pages, absently reading sentences here and there, but mostly, he was starting to wonder if he should ask Luka to find him another book. Then he caught something about starlight and turned his full attention back to the book.

_Elves have long been known to have an affinity for starlight and music – and especially music about the stars. A good suitor should be able to play a song that could win any heart._

Roche licked his lips, thinking back to that song about a star that Iorveth played. Iorveth had said it was incomplete, that he only knew one part of what was supposed to be a full symphony. Maybe… maybe that was something Roche could do.

He cleared his throat and approached Luka again. “You mentioned that you had works from before the Conjunction of the Spheres. Does that include music?”

_“Does_ it!?” Luka hopped up excitedly, “it most certainly does! Why, I have the _only_ known visual copy of one of the best musicians that ever graced this continent!”

Roche blinked. “Visual copy? Like… sheet music?”

“No, no, no. Come, you must see to understand.” Luke jumped up onto another platform and Roche followed with a sigh, covering a yawn as they rolled steadily past rows and rows of bookcases.

Finally, Luka brought them to a stop next to a cabinet that was stacked high with hundreds of what looked like wooden blocks. Roche sent Luka a baffled look, but the dwarf walked right by the bizarre collection and instead gestured to a display case where what looked like a hand-sized metal disc sat atop a velvet cushion.

“Um?”

Luka pulled a chain from under their collar and brandished a silver key, unlocking the display case and picking the hexagonal disc up in reverent hands. “This,” Luka said slowly, “is the only visual copy known to exist of an incredibly talented flautist.” 

They slid their thumb along one of the sides of the disc and something clicked. Roche felt that sizzle in the air that signaled magic and he watched in astonishment as, above the disc, a solid figure formed until it looked like it was standing on the disc. The figure was wearing silvery robes that seemed to sparkle in the light, and their long hair was pulled back in an elaborate braid that Roche couldn’t even begin to make heads or tails of. 

Then, the figure lifted a metal flute to their lips and began to play. Roche’s jaw dropped as music actually filled the air, a soft, melancholic melody that wound through his body and reverberated in his chest.

“How?” he breathed.

“Magic, of course!” Luka’s voice was still excited, but the actual sound was breathy with awe. “Isn’t it magnificent? I was fortunate enough to acquire it several centuries ago and oh, this musician is _truly_ an artist.”

“Who are they?”

Luka shook their head, “that answer, sadly, has been lost to time. I do know that they played quite a lot. We have a number of their recordings – solo and orchestral – in the music catalogue,” they waved at the bizarre wooden slat cabinet, “but _this,_ this is the true prize of my library.”

“Those things are recordings?”

“Oh yes!” Luka carefully set the still-playing disc on the velvet pillow and moved over to the cabinet, pulling out one of the wooden blocks. “Still magic, of course, but unlike this visual copy, they are maintained by mechanical mechanisms! Think like a music box – only instead of winding it to pluck a melody out on a steel comb, a mage infused the song itself to the gears. Here, try it.” 

Luka held out one of the blocks and Roche took it, feeling along the smooth sides until he found the catch. Luka held out a tool and Roche wound the box until music burst from it – the same melody that the disc played.

Roche nearly dropped the block in surprise and Luka made an aggrieved noise, snatching it back and placing it carefully on the shelf. 

“These are not _as_ fragile as the visual recording, but they _are_ delicate,” Luka scolded.

“Sorry. So you lend these out the same as with the books?”

“Yep. We have a wide selection, actually – all kinds of genres, whether you like vocals, orchestras, ballads, or jigs.”

Roche sucked on his lip, an idea occurring to him. “Any lullabies? Anais has trouble falling asleep – nightmares.”

“Poor dear,” Luka cooed. “Yes, our children’s section certainly has a number of lullabies. I would recommend, hmm,” they flitted their fingers over the different blocks before apparently finding what they were looking for. “Here we are! Traditional dwarven lullabies, for pebbles to preteens.”

“Pebbles?”

“Oh, you know. Wee ones, still young and energetic, not yet too terribly angsty. Pebbles!”

Roche bit back a smile, repeating, “pebbles. That’s fucking adorable.”

Luka grinned. “These should be soothing enough for your kids, and they’re mostly in Elder, so you can get them familiar with the way the language sounds.”

“Oh, perfect. Thank you.” Roche shuffled the courting book and the new music block in his hands. “Uh, do you like, actually have sheet music, though? Or just recordings?”

“We do! Different section, though. Looking for anything in particular?”

“Yeah,” he licked his lips. “It’s, uh, I guess it would definitely be pre-Conjunction. It’s called _Stella Splendens.”_

“Hmm,” Luka stroked their beard, eyes narrowed in thought. “Our Pre-Conjunction collection is smaller, but I do believe we may have something along those lines. This way!”

Luka stepped back onto the moving platform and guided them several stacks over to shelves that were bursting with papers and parchment and clay tablets. 

“How has all of this stuff survived this long?”

“Well, I’d be lying if I didn’t give magic its fair due. _But,_ I’d like to think my meticulous care over the years has played some role in it,” Luka smiled. 

“Humanity barely has records from more than a century or so ago, and you’ve got stuff going back Pre-Conjunction. That’s just – that’s awesome,” Roche covered a yawn halfway through the word.

Luka hopped down and started browsing through the sheet music collection. “You’re looking specifically for this song, _Stella Splendens?”_

“Yes. I understand it was written for a number of different parts? Or...something?” He shrugged, “honestly, I don’t know a ton about music. I used to sing a lot when I was younger, but it was all casual, you know? But I do actually know how to read sheet music, so I was hoping…” Roche bit his lip, trying to formulate what exactly he wanted from the abstract hopes circling his mind.

“Hmm, I’m not seeing it here at a glance, but I can look a bit further into it, if you like.” Luka batted a long curl out of their face. “This collection could use some re-organizing, if I’m honest.”

“If you could, that would be great,” Roche said fervently, then hid another yawn behind his hand. “Ah, sorry. Guess I should probably try to get some sleep. Um, so I know for later – when exactly is the library open?”

Luka just blinked at him. “Open? As in, the opposite of closed? Yeah, we don’t do that. Granted, the library is not always staffed, but why would we limit the hours within which you can access new knowledge?”

The dwarf looked utterly baffled and Roche had to smile. “All right, then. Uh, thank for your help, then.”

Luka nodded, starting the platform again and returning them both to the front. “Let me just get you all checked out and you can be on your way to bed. It is nighttime, isn’t it? We’re always less busy at night, but honestly, who can be bothered to track the sun?”

“Uh, most people?”

Luka scoffed, marking down something on a journal behind their desk and in the book Roche was borrowing. “I’ve never been one for surfacer thought. My eyes were made to peer at small text for hours, not to look over boring rolling hills as if there were something interesting out there.”

Roche took the book and music block back when they were offered. “Well, it was definitely interesting to meet you, Luka. I’m sure I’ll be back before long.”

“Of course! I shall look for your song in the meantime. _Dearme, en cara,”_ Luka said in Elder and Roche blinked. “Good night, my friend.”

“Oh. Uh, thanks, you too,” Roche nodded and turned to leave out the truly ridiculously large doors, holding back another yawn.


	21. Arc 3: A Day With the Kids

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roche spends the day sleep deprived and corralling two eight year olds.

By the time Roche returned home and actually got some sleep, the sun was already starting to peek over the top of the mountain. So it shouldn’t have been a surprise when Anais leapt onto his bed what felt like seconds later to wake him up.

Roche groaned unintelligibly, trying to figure out why he was being assaulted by an eight year old girl.

“Get up!” Anais hollered right in his ear, “Brigida said you were handling lessons today, and I wanna go outside and play first!”

He grunted, wrestling one eye open. “Br’g’da said wha’?”

“You’re teaching us today!”

All he could do was blink blearily at her. Was this supposed to be Brigida’s – what, payback? Keeping him sleep deprived?

...it might work.

“C’mooooooon, Uncle Roche!” Anais tugged on his arm. “They have really cool playgrounds here!”

“What about breakfast?” Roche yawned, dragged himself upright. Fuck, he was tired. And he was supposed to be extra responsible for two little kids? 

That could not end well.

“We can go to the public dining hall!” Boussy piped up. “You can get your happy juice and we can pick up food and then go play!”

Happy juice?

Well, the dwarven coffee _was_ really good.

“Okay,” he started donning his layers of armor, yawning widely, “but happy juice first.”

“Yes!” Anais and Boussy high fived.

If Brigida was in the house, Roche actually didn’t get a chance to see, because Anais and Boussy dragged him outside by his hands, and he just did not have the energy to resist. 

The public dining hall was bustling when they arrived – which, Roche realized belatedly, Boussy had guided them to without trouble – and several dwarves shouted out greetings upon seeing them.

Roche smiled weakly and nodded back, making a beeline for the coffee.

Oh good gods, he would give anything to know how the dwarves made their coffee so damned _good._ The coffee at the Temerian army bases and even in the royal palace had always been absolutely _awful_ in comparison.

Boussy grabbed a nice sensible porridge with melon slices and strawberries in it. Anais, on the other hand, went straight for the least identifiable item in the cafeteria – what appeared to be brown lumpy squares made of some sort of bean.

“...what is that?” Roche asked as they were seated. He, like Boussy, had opted for the nice familiar porridge.

Anais shrugged, putting some sort of leafy greens over the lumpy square before plopping another slice of bread on top and picking it up like a sandwich. She took a big bite and he watched as she chewed consideringly.

“Well? Do you like it?”

“Eh,” she shrugged again, “‘s okay.” 

_Okay_ was apparently acceptable, because she finished her sandwich in a handful of too-big bites.

“C’nwegoplaynow?” Anais asked, cheeks puffed wide with food.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full.”

She gulped dramatically, grabbing her glass full of milk to wash it down. “Can we go play now?”

“Let your brother and I finish eating.”

“But you’re slooooooow.”

“No, you just ate too quickly. You’re lucky you didn’t choke.”

She stuck her tongue out. “I wanna play!”

“Tough. You need to wait for your brother and I to finish,” Roche said firmly, thanking all the gods for delicious dwarven coffee. If he was going to have to deal with Anais in a demanding mood, he would need it.

Anais pouted, swinging her legs back and forth and _barely_ avoiding kicking them.

He sighed, “are you still hungry? Why don’t you go see if there’s something else you’d like. And then come _right back here,_ okay?”

She perked up. ”Okay!” Bouncing to her feet, Anais ran back towards the cafeteria, nearly running into multiple dwarves. Thankfully, they didn’t seem at all bothered by it, instead laughing and watching her go.

“Fiery lil pebble,” one of them said, patting Roche on the back.

“Yeah,” he said around a yawn, twisting to try to keep her in sight, even though it meant he almost missed his mouth with his spoon.

“Brigida always says that doing something else when you _should_ be eating is how messes are made,” Boussy piped up helpfully.

Roche turned back to his food, eating his next mouthful properly. “Did Brigida happen to mention what the plan for today’s lessons was?”

Boussy opened his mouth, and then tilted his head, considering something. Slowly, he said, “lots of time at the playground?”

Roche snorted. “Okay, we need to teach you to lie better, because that was awful.” Boussy pouted, and Roche reached out to pat his head. “Did Brigida _actually_ say anything?”

Boussy shook his head. “She’s been teaching us boring times tables. Can’t we do something else?”

Roche chewed on his lip. Maybe they could start Elder lessons today? How weird would it be to seek Iorveth out for that right now?

Then again, Iorveth might be too busy. His world was kind of falling apart around him. Would the reminder that he could have a new life, here with Roche and Anais and Boussy, be helpful or just make things worse?

“Maybe,” he decided. He’d have to think on it more while at the playground. 

Anais re-appeared, holding an ice cream cone and licking happily at her treat. Roche frowned at her.

“Ice cream is a dessert, Anais. You really don’t need sugar this early.” 

Anais shrugged, “you _said_ to get something I’d like!”

“I want ice cream!” Boussy immediately said.

Roche sighed. “Can you two share the cone?”

Anais looked mortally offended at the suggestion. Boussy just scrunched his face up. “But she’s already _licked_ it!”

“I mean, you’ve definitely put worse things in your mouth,” Roche said without thinking and immediately regretted it when Boussy’s face turned just as offended as Anais.

“I have _not!_ I would never eat gross things! I want ice cream!”

He dragged a hand down his face. There had not been enough coffee to deal with this. “Okay, are you done with your porridge?” At Boussy’s nod, he continued, “all right, we’ll go get some more ice cream and coffee. But _only_ because Anais already got some,” he sent her a disappointed look, but Anais just took a big bite of ice cream and grinned. “And if anyone asks, no, you did not have dessert after breakfast.”

“Okay!”

Five minutes later, armed with the largest cup of coffee he could get and accompanied by two eight year olds happily licking their ice cream, Roche left the dining hall.

“So, where’s this playground?”

“Oh! I know the way!” Boussy cheered, taking the lead. 

Roche took another sip of coffee.

“All right, you can play for an hour, but then we need to figure out lessons, okay? Let’s...hmm, maybe we can go to the library. Luka did say they hold lessons…”

“Who’s Luka?”

“Library!?” Boussy’s eyes lit up. “Do you think they’ll have _the Adventures of a Beauclair Knight?_ I was halfway through the third book when – when–” he trailed off uncertainly.

“We can definitely find out,” Roche said, reaching out to smooth a hand through Boussy’s hair. “And if they do have the series you want, you can get as many of them as you want.”

“Whatever,” Anais scoffed, “my book was better. _Murder at the Lyrian Castle_ had Queen Meve as a detective!”

“Huh,” Roche blinked. “That’s… cool?”

“It was! She took out the bad guy with one punch! It was awesome!” Anais mimed punching, and even though her ice cream cone was in her fist, her form was actually correct. That probably shouldn’t make him feel as proud as it did.

“Sounds awesome,” he nodded. “We’ll go to the library after the playground, okay? So get your energy out here, because you’ll need to be quiet in the library.”

“Okay,” both kids chirped, and then they were close enough to see the jungle gym. Anais crammed the rest of her ice cream into her mouth, while Boussy calmly continued to lick his, but both of them took off at a run.

Roche sighed heavily and jogged after them, but it wasn’t like he didn’t know where they were going. And he had not had enough coffee for running.

What he _really_ needed was a nap. 

Usually, Roche was a very observant person. He was known for it in certain circles, in fact. So he blamed the sleep deprivation for why it took him until he was standing five paces away from the playground to really take it in.

First off, this was _far_ larger than any playground he’d ever seen in Vizima – and he had seen a few. Only in the rich areas, of course; he and his friends had made do with climbing the buildings instead of jungle gyms. Maybe that was why he hardly recognized _any_ of the equipment in the playground. Either that, or dwarves were way more inventive when thinking about play.

The playground was only one small part of a park that included a number of climbable trees, some with swings attached. There was a little pond in the shade that looked _just_ deep enough to take a dip in, and a number of lounge chairs surrounded it. But Roche could see why Anais and Boussy didn’t spare a glance for any of it, instead running straight for the playground.

Wooden and metal structures were placed around a giant sandpit. Some of them were more recognizable – the swings, the slides, and the climbing jungle gyms all seemed straight forward. Even the wooden animals with seats mounted on what looked like gigantic springs made sense, though he hadn’t seen one before. 

Boussy made a beeline to what looked like an elevated circle with bars randomly spaced on top of it. Still munching on his ice cream, he plopped down onto the smooth wooden circle and started kicking at the ground, making it spin. 

Anais, on the other hand, went straight for a tall pole that had chains ending in handles hanging off of it. Roche was honestly baffled by what you could do with that, but Anais appeared confident as she tapped the shoulder of a group of dwarves playing on the jungle gym. He couldn’t hear what she said, but from the way they all rose and followed her to the pole, she had apparently recruited them. For what, he was still a little confused about. 

He walked closer, stepping up to the benches that conveniently lined the sandpit, while the kids all grasped the chains – which apparently came in adjustable lengths – and started running in a circle around the pole. As they picked up speed, Roche watched in astonishment as Anais’s feet actually left the ground, all of the kids spinning through the air and occasionally touching down to push off again and keep the momentum going.

“We definitely never had that,” he said out loud.

“Nah, but it’s cool as fuck.” Fenn said from behind him, and Roche tried to pretend he didn’t jump in surprise.

“Fenn! How–?”

“Heard at the dining hall that we’d probably find you here. Apparently there were two kids chanting ‘playground’ while eating ice cream.” The amusement on Finch’s face managed to come off judgingly and Roche felt the need to defend himself.

“At least they’re working off the sugar rush?”

“Uh huh,” Fenn and Finch intoned at the same time. 

Ves just tilted her head, assessing the playground. “This is a decent training course,” she decreed.

“It’s a playground, not a training course, Ves.”

“Eh, same thing. It’s a good thing – teach them to move the way they’ll need to.”

“What I wanna know,” Thirteen said deliberately, “is what _that_ is.”

He pointed to what looked like a large water wheel without the outer rim connecting the spokes. Instead, the four wooden spokes made a rough cross with an axle in the center. The wooden frame holding the wheel in place had handlebars on it, so obviously climbing was involved, but Roche honestly wasn’t sure how.

“Think we can ride it? How, though?” Fenn asked.

Roche shrugged. “No idea. They have a lot more stuff than any playground back home ever had.”

Finch nodded, taking a seat next to him and pulling out a wooden block and knife. Seeing him carve reminded Roche that he would need to get some practice in if he was going to have any chance of making something for Iorveth.

“You got some more of that wood?” he asked, faux casually.

Finch arched a brow, but shrugged and reached into his pockets. Roche set aside his empty coffee cup to take the wooden block and pulled out his own knife.

“Bet you I can swing higher,” Fenn challenged Thirteen and Ves, and they took off running across the sand.

Roche just shook his head. “Did Silas, Shorty, and PT head out all right?”

“Yup. Left yesterday morning,” Finch said. In his hands, the corner of a wagon wheel began to take shape. 

Roche, on the other hand, was biting his lip over how to start. But if he never put knife to wood, it would certainly never happen, so he slowly started peeling away curls of wood, drawing a basic daisy flower shape on the flat of the block with his mind.

In the future, maybe he would think to bring something to mark it on the actual wood.

They stayed like that for a long while, watching the kids – large and small ones – and chipping away at the wood. Finch was understandably much faster than Roche was, but he was trying to convince himself that his carving was coming out all right anyway.

He had barely started shaping the second petal – and fuck, why did carving take so _long?_ Why couldn’t he just figure out the shape he wanted to make and then cut it out of the wood? Why did he have to so very slowly peel away little curls of wood until only his determination not to fall asleep with a knife in his hand kept him from dozing off? – when Anais headed towards him, holding hands with a dwarf half her height.

“Uncle Roche,” she bounded up to him excitedly, “this is Magda! She’s my best friend now.”

“Hi Magda,” Roche smiled reluctantly. Anais’s enthusiasm was endearing, but dear gods, the dwarven child was _tiny!_ Though, she was also stocky and round and huh, he thought maybe he understood why they called them ‘pebbles’ now.

“Hi!” Magda waved and her hands were so little! He knew, logically, that dwarves were smaller. _Obviously_ , they were smaller. But he’d never really thought about how that meant that the dwarves around Anais and Boussy’s age – or the equivalent, since dwarves were long lived – would be, well, _small._ He was almost worried Anais would barrel over little Magda; she looked so delicate and he loved Anais as if she were his own, but the girl did not quite understand the meaning of ‘gentle’. 

“We wanna ride that!” Anais said, pointing at the bizarre water wheel. “But everyone else is too scared, and Magda says we need two more people.”

“I volunteer!” Fenn and Thirteen shouted at the same time and jeez, when had they even gotten close enough to hear? Ves followed them, looking highly amused with the whole situation.

“When you say _ride–?”_ Roche started.

“You spin on it! But straight up and down, instead of around!” Magda explained, gesturing with her hands – and inadvertently dragging Anais’s hand along, as they were still clasped together.

Roche looked at the water wheel-like structure, “...how?”

“We can show you!” Anais said. “If Mr. Thirteen and Mr. Fenn help us. Please?”

“Why were the other kids scared?” Ves asked and oh, that was a good question. Roche hadn’t even thought about that. 

Oops?

“They’re quaky dirt clods!” Magda scoffed.

Roche blinked. 

“Scaredy cats,” Anais said helpfully.

“Why would cats be scared?” Magda asked.

“But _why_ were they scared of the wheel?” 

Magda frowned and rolled her eyes dramatically. “Because they say it’s for the big kids. But everything at this park is designed for everyone! That’s the point!”

“Wait, what do you mean?”

Magda’s look was very successful at making him feel stupid. “This is the Ambassador Park. By the Castle of the Three Fathers, on the surface, all that. So they made it so everyone can use it – dwarves, humans, elves, halflings, whatever. For this one, we just gotta move the handlebars – you gotta wrap your legs around them, to hang on.”

Roche looked the contraption over, consideringly. On the one hand, he still had no idea how it worked and he was _curious,_ dammit. On the other hand, if all the other kids were scared, there was probably a good reason.

Anais looked up at him with wide pleading eyes and, taking their cue from the eight year old girl, Thirteen and Fenn jumped behind her to join in.

“Oh, all right. Just… be careful.”

“Yay!” Anais and Magda cheered, then the four of them ran to the water wheel, Roche, Ves, and Finch following along much more sedately.

When he reached them again, he could hear Magda directing them on how to get on the thing. “Okay, Anais and I will be opposites. Anais, you and Mr. Thirteen hold the bottom two spokes in place. Then you, Mr. Fenn, you go up that side and be ready to grab the third spoke when it comes to you. I’m gonna climb on first and once I’m on, Anais, you jump up to balance it.”

As she spoke, Magda climbed up to stand on the axel and grasp the fourth spoke. She pulled out one of the handlebars and pushed it back through the wood further up. Then, she put her hands on the top handlebars, then slid her legs through the other two – one behind the knee, one over the foot. 

“Now, Anais! And Mr. Thirteen, you move to the center to keep us balanced!” she called and as Thirteen moved towards Anais, Anais let the her feet leave the ground and pulled herself up onto the handlebars. “Now you, Mr. Fenn!”

Fenn climbed up onto the axle and edged forward until he could mount the spoke the same way the children had, Thirteen holding the whole wheel in place with his feet planted apart. Once Fenn was fully on, Thirteen let the momentum of the wheel pull him partially off his feet, then he hopped up, quickly slipping his legs into place.

Slowly, the wheel started to turn, and when they came to the top, Magda shouted for them to raise their hands until they started turning down again, to help them move faster.

“And when you’re coming up to the top, pull your body forward – just until we get speed!”

It worked, each of them spinning around the axle. Anais laughed in delight, and Fenn’s grin was slightly frightening. 

“Okay, I love dwarves now,” Thirteen said. “This is fucking awesome!”

“Watch your mouth,” Roche said, a yawn creeping up on him halfway through. “Fuck, I’m tired.”

“Watch your own mouth, Bossman,” Finch chuckled.

“Oh, shut up. Can you go check on Boussy, see if he wants a ride? I don’t want Anais talking about it later and him feeling left out.”

“Sure,” Finch rose to his feet and headed across the sandpit, where Boussy was hanging upside down in a weblike metal dome, swinging with his knees hooked over the top.

Roche squeezed the bridge of his nose, wishing he had more coffee. And he was still supposed to manage lessons for them? Gods, he hoped the library had something, because his brain felt like mush right now. 

Ves knocked her shoulder against his, reminding him that at least he wasn’t alone in this. Although… the Blue Stripes were undoubtedly the best strike team in the north, but infiltrating an enemy stronghold was not raising a child.

“Why would I _ever_ wanna do _that!?”_ Boussy said shrilly from behind him and he turned to see Finch and Boussy headed towards them, Boussy staring at his sister with wide eyes and a horrified expression on his face. 

Roche rather agreed, honestly. Though, when he was a kid, he would’ve _loved_ something like this. Now? Now he felt vaguely queasy just thinking about it.

“So,” Fenn said a few moments later, “how do we stop?”

Magda laughed. “We have to work together. Everyone stop moving, hug the seat.”

The wheel began to slow and then rocked back and forth slightly. 

“Then we get off the same way we got on! But we’ll need someone to hold the spokes in place.”

“At your service,” Roche said, stepping forward and grasping the handlebar next to Thirteen’s foot. Magda and Anais dismounted together, followed by Thirteen and Fenn, who both looked ecstatic.

“Oh Boss, you gotta try that, it’s _amazing!”_

“Maybe another time,” Roche dodged. “Anais, Boussy, are you ready to leave? If you need to run a few laps in order to sit and be quiet in the library, do it now.”

“Library?” Finch asked.

“Yeah, actually, I want all of you to come too. We’ve got some research to do.”

“Ugh,” Thirteen groaned. “Rather stay here and play.”

“Run some laps, then,” Roche said, mercilessly. 

Anais perked up. “Wanna race, Mr. Thirteen? I bet me and Magda can beat you!”

“Oh, you’re on!” Thirteen grinned, stretching his neck and shoulders.

“To the u-shaped tree and back,” Fenn, as always, immediately stepped up to moderate – and profit from – the chaos. “Place your bets, folks!”

“5 orens on Thirteen,” Finch joked.

“10 on Magda,” Ves said.

“I bet on Anais!” Boussy cheered.

Anais posed with a grin at her brother and Magda laughed.

“Ready? Three, two, one, go!” Fenn slashed his hand down with the last word and the three of them took off like a shot. Surprisingly, Magda took the early lead, and Anais followed her closely. Thirteen kept up with the two of them all the way to the tree, but began lagging on the way back. Finally, Magda dashed past Roche, Fenn, Finch and Boussy, and Anais followed a handful of seconds behind her. 

“Yes!” Magda cheered, and Ves happily collected her winnings from Finch.

“You were awesome!” Anais said, tackling her friend with a hug and that niggling little worry that Anais might quite literally bulldoze Magda came back full force.

“I let them win,” Thirteen shrugged casually, but he was still panting heavily and Roche laughed.

“You are so doing drills this evening,” he ordered.

Thirteen swore under his breath, and the strange words weren’t ones Roche had ever heard before.

“Where did you learn that?”

“Drinking with Zoltan, Yarpen, and Dandelion,” Thirteen said, “no idea what it means, but it sounds great.”

“Actually, it’s an old Upper Vergen dialect. Means potato,” a dwarf came up beside them to say. “Magda, my little gem, we should be going.”

“Aww man,” Thirteen sighed.

“Tuiste, meet Anais!” Magda called, dragging Anais over to the new dwarf. “Anais, this is Merek, my tuiste.”

Anais mouthed the word to herself. “What’s that mean?”

“They’re my parent,” Magda said.

“Hello,” Roche turned to the dwarf. “I’m–”

“Yes, I know.” Merek said coldly. “Magda, come.”

“But–”

Merek snapped something in Elder and Magda sighed, turning to Anais with a sad expression. She hugged Anais around the middle and whispered something Roche couldn’t hear. 

Anais hugged her back fiercely. Then Merek cleared their throat and Magda detached, giving them all a sad wave.

Anais’s energy and vitality seemed to go with her, and she turned silently to walk beside her brother. After a moment, Boussy held out his hand and she clasped it, staring quietly at the ground.

“I’m sorry, Anais,” Roche said, fumbling for anything else to say.

Anais shook her head. “Best friends are best friends,” she said firmly. “Let’s go.”

“I – if you’re sure,” he said hesitantly. “Let’s head back to the castle. The library is down below.”

“Long as we don’t have to take the damn trains,” Thirteen hissed.

“He’s refused to take them at all. Made the visit we took to the hydroponics cavern very strange,” Fenn explained.

“I only got lost a few times!”

“Really? You haven’t taken the train at all since the first day?” Roche asked, surprised. 

“Or ever again!” Thirteen insisted. “I got a map. I can walk places. I won’t ever get back on one of those death traps.”

Fenn coughed something that sounded an awful lot like “wuss” and Thirteen punched him in the arm.

“So, what’s at the library?” Ves asked.

“For us? Research on Nilfgaard. For them? Hopefully some children’s books and Elder lessons.” Roche stepped back as they approached the huge doors that led to the library, wanting to see how his men reacted to it.

“How in the fuck can those doors even open?” Finch asked rhetorically.

“Oooh, pretty carvings,” Boussy said, reaching out to feel them.

Ves stepped forward and pushed the door open without issue. Roche was a little bit disappointed.

He’d been drunk, he told himself. It was fine.

They stepped inside the library and even Ves drew in a sharp gasp of awe. Thirteen, on the other hand, yawned. 

“Great, so what do we need here?”

“Hello,” Luka greeted, and Roche turned to the dwarf.

“Guys, this is Luka Harren, the library archivist. Luka, this is Anais and Boussy La Valette, and these idiots are my team, the Blue Stripes.”

Fenn waved.

“You know the librarian?” Ves asked in an undertone.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Roche shrugged, trying _not_ to remember how Geralt had pushed him in the direction of the library. He was pretty sure his ears were blushing and dammit, he’d forgotten his chaperon _again!?_

Luka stepped forward, eye level with the children. “It is an honor to meet you, Anais, Boussy.”

“You mentioned the library had lessons, so I was hoping – ah, that is, they could really use a start in Elder?” Roche said, holding back a yawn.

“Of course. Excellent timing, actually. Our siltstone class is just about to begin.”

“Sorry, your what?”

“Ah, you would call them, hmm,” Luka searched for the word, wiggling their fingers back and forth as they thought, “ah! Toddlers.”

Ves frowned. “Silt… like sand?”

“No, no, sand is older,” Luka said, “thirty to fifty years old. Ah, in human terms, that’s… three to five, I believe?”

“Huh. So you got silt, sand, pebbles – and those lullabies I got said preteens. What are teenagers, then?”

“In years? Oh, about a hundred and thirty to two hundred. In terms, we’d call them cobble. They often like to think they’re boulders, though,” Luka grinned. 

Finch tilted his head to the side, “makes sense.”

“It does?” Thirteen asked.

“Rock sizes!” Anais answered. “Rocks are important to dwarves!”

“You’re quite right, little pebble,” Luka said. “Dwarves were carved from stone, and so we hold it close to our hearts.”

“Mr. Luka, sir,” Boussy asked, biting his lip, “how come everyone but the kids have beards?”

“Ah, firstly my dear, I am actually Miss Luka, or you may call me just Luka. As for the beards,” she stroked a hand through her own beard in reference, fingers easily brushing through curls without separating them. “All dwarves have beards. Like stone, hair is important to a dwarf. With our beards especially, we tell each other all kinds of things – like, this braid, for instance,” Luka pulled out a braid Roche hadn’t even noticed from her beard, “this braid means I am a woman. You see, to dwarves, gender is variable, so we tell each other how we want to be called.”

“Oh,” Boussy said. “Sorry?”

“You did not know better, little pebble,” Luka smiled at him. 

“What are the different braids?” Roche asked.

“Ah, I believe I have a book here that – yes, here we are,” Luka fluttered around the check out desk, grabbing a slim book and opening it for them. “Yes, here we are. These are just the eight most common braids, of course – there are a number of others that you may see around. But if you are unsure, you can always ask.”

Anais’s face scrunched up in confusion. “Are there eight genders?”

“For humans? I don’t know. But for dwarves, there are at least eight. We know other species often have trouble reading our braids, though, so most dwarves who work with humans extensively tend to use ‘he’.”

“Does Elder speech have more pronouns, then?” Fenn asked, stroking his own chin as if he had a beard.

“Oh, many more. Elder Speech is a language all about description. The Elder Races – gnomes, dwarves, elves, and halflings – each have different dialects and some vocabulary may be unique to them. For example, we dwarves don’t tend to go around waxing poetic about leaves. But elves? One of their great writers, Ernatae of Hemming – oh, talented, to be sure, but three pages on leaves!? My dear man, who could possibly care so much about leaves?”

“Elves, presumably,” Roche shrugged, “maybe a gardener or farmer.”

Luka shot him a _look._

“At any rate, Anais and Boussy, you are welcome to join the siltstone class. It’s all beginner lessons, so you shouldn’t feel lost, I hope.”

“Do we _have_ to?” Anais asked.

Roche covered a yawn. “Yes. Yes you do,” not least because he seriously needed a nap.

“Right this way,” Luka beckoned, and Roche followed them far enough to see they were headed to what was apparently the children’s section.

Anais and Boussy reacted to the moving platforms about the same way they’d reacted to the trained – “cool!”

Thirteen, on the other hand, seemed to _much_ prefer the platforms. “Oooh, you can steer them around and everything,” he said, testing one out.

“Please don’t get into trouble,” Roche yawned, heading back towards the front. Those couches were calling to him. “Research Nilfgaard. Ask Luka for help on where to find what you need.”

So saying, he settled down on one of the couches and he was asleep before his head even hit the cushion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The food Anais tries is actually [tempeh!](https://www.connoisseurusveg.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/09/tempeh-breakfast-sandwiches.jpg) In this case, made from fermented mucuna!
> 
> Playground: you would not believe the amount of research I put into this for no reason. But yeah, dwarves have cool fucking playground equipment.  
> [The maypole spinner](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/65/36/ed/6536ed5837a7ba5be24e1e4a26a14504.jpg)  
> [The water wheel](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lp81PANRYoA)
> 
> Yes, that was me dragging Hemmingway. Sorry dude, but I could not get through your books.


	22. Arc 3: Disaster Stripes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roche's nap is interrupted by disaster and honestly, the day doesn't get better from there.

It wasn’t the yelling that woke him up. In fact, it was typically difficult to wake him up at all, so it was really no surprise the yelling didn’t wake him up.

No, what woke him was the great clattering crash that shook the floor and made him fall off the couch.

Bolting upright, hand automatically drawing his knife, Roche looked around with wide eyes, adrenaline pumping through him. Only to find that instead of some sort of attack, there were papers fluttering through the air.

“My library!” Luka screamed, and Roche turned to see exactly what he probably should have predicted he would see when leaving his team unsupervised for long enough for a nap.

“Fuck,” he muttered, sheathing his knife and heading towards the pile of wood and books and gods only knew what else, with a bruised Thirteen splayed out on top. “Are you still alive in there?”

Thirteen weakly raised his hand in a thumbs up and two groans from the pile of books indicated Fenn and Finch were still breathing – for the moment, anyway – so that only left – 

“I WAS GONE ONE FUCKING MINUTE!” Ves shouted. “ONE GODS DAMMED MINUTE!”

Roche dragged a hand over his face and turned to a distraught Luka.

“I’m so sorry. I will ensure that they clean up and pay for anything that may be damaged.”

“Damaged,” Luka repeated quietly to herself. “ _ Damaged!?  _ My collection is priceless and these idiots may have  _ damaged it!?” _

Even though Luka only came up to his waist, her burst of fury had him drawing back, and when she rounded on the three men slowly climbing out of the pile of destruction, they audibly gulped.

“We can explain?” Thirteen tried.

“Bad enough you idiots won’t do the reading,” Ves snarled under her breath, helping to dig them out, “but the moment I leave to go find a book, you – what!? What did you idiots do?”

“I don’t care what you did! You – you – you  _ absolute _ luddites! This is a sacred place of knowledge where  _ all _ can partake. But  _ you!” _ Luka stalked up to Thirteen, Fenn, and Finch who had, more or less, emerged from the wreckage and she was wielding a small quill-shaped letter opener as deftly as Ves would a knife. “You will clean up every  _ scrap _ of paper and then you will  _ never _ set foot here  _ ever again,  _ is that clear!?”

They nodded meekly and Ves looked Luka over, impressed.

“Oh sweet Melitele,” someone gasped from the other side of the pile of books. “Luka? Are you all right?”

Luka visibly sucked in a deep breath through gritted teeth and then turned to the new dwarf, who had several  _ incredibly small _ dwarves and two human children following her.

“Yes, Flala. I apologize for this interruption to your lessons. Please, continue. I shall  _ deal _ with this.”

The dwarf, Flala, gave Luka a dubious look, but she caroused the toddlers – siltstone, whatever – back towards the children’s section. Anais and Boussy hung back, casting worried glances over to Roche and his idiot team.

“It’s okay, Anais, Boussy,” he tried to smile, but it may have looked more like a grimace. “Go back to your class. Ves is gonna be here while I take care of this, okay?”

They nodded and reluctantly turned to follow Flala, who was waiting for them. He cast a glance at Ves and she nodded, smacking Fenn over the head with the book in her hand before turning to make her way around the zone of destruction so that she could lurk near the lesson.

That done, Roche turned back to his men and one little dwarf who was red-faced and trembling with rage. “Luka,” he said cautiously, “I swear to you that they will do anything and everything you demand in restitution. That said, they are injured.” Except for Thirteen actually, and wasn’t that quite a change. Usually Unlucky Thirteen was right in the middle of everything and had the bruises and scars to prove it.

Luka’s fingers flexed around her letter opener, but she nodded sharply. “Bring them to the medics. But I will expect them back here by midday, and they will not leave until it is  _ spotless!” _

“Yes, ma’am,” Fenn gulped, clutching his left wrist and putting most of his weight on his right leg.

“We swear,” Finch added, voice meeker than Roche had ever heard it.

Thirteen just nodded furiously.

Roche wondered if it would be inappropriate to declare Luka his new best friend. Not only was she helpful and interesting to talk to, but she could cow the Stripes! He looked at her with awe and admiration as she marched back to her desk, muttering darkly in Elder the whole way.

“Thirteen, help Fenn walk. Finch, you good on walking?”

Finch held his arm stiffly, and his forearm stuck out at an angle it definitely was not supposed to. “Yeah, I can walk. But PT’s gone.”

“Well, he’s hardly the only medic in this city,” Roche said confidently, even though he had no idea where to find the dwarven medical system.  _ But _ he did know of one medic that was still in Vergen, and he was pretty sure he even knew where to find her.

That did not mean he knew how to get there.

“Thirteen, you know how to get around Vergen?” At Thirteen’s nod, he ordered, “you lead us then. We’re headed to the Old Gate.”

Fenn paled. “We’re  _ walking _ there?”

Roche crossed his arms and looked down at him with serious eyes. “How bad is it?”

Fenn frowned, curling his shoulders defensively up around his ears. “N’tha’bad,” he mumbled.

“What was that?” Roche demanded, mercilessly.

“Not that bad,” Fenn spat out. “I can walk with support.”

“Good. Then yes, we are walking. And you can spend the entire way there thinking about how you’ve thoroughly ruined the Blue Stripes’ reputation and how disappointed I am in all of you.” He turned his glare on each of them in turn and they swallowed and nodded bashfully. “Let’s go.”

The walk was quiet and long, but before his men began to look fatigued in a way that worried Roche, they reached Rhundurin Square. On the far side of the square, a stairwell led up to the defenses that guarded the main gate and, in the other direction, led to the poorer part of the city, the human slums that had been vacated when Henselt’s army marched towards them and were now occupied by Iorveth’s Scoia’tael.

But that wasn’t what Roche was here for. Bringing his wounded men into the Scoia’tael’s basecamp? That would be  _ asking _ to get knifed. No, what he needed, he was hoping he could find at the base of the stairs, set up to serve the Scoia’tael and the citizens of Vergen alike.

Squeezing through the market without jarring their injuries overly much was a struggle, but the grumbling and complaining behind him reassured Roche that they would be fine. It was when they got quiet that he needed to worry.

Finally, he spotted the tent he was looking for and corralled his men over to the greying elf. When they were a handful of paces away, she looked up from grinding herbs and arched an eyebrow, clearing her workspace.

“Imadia,” Roche nodded.

“Nice to see you again, pretty dh’oine,” she smiled at him and motioned for Fenn to hop up onto the cot. “And what disaster befell your companions?”

“Their own idiocy.”

“Ah, the worst kind.” There was a thread of amusement in her voice even as she bustled around, gathering supplies and examining Fenn’s leg. “Could be worse, though you’ll be out of commission for a few days. I can't find any signs of sprain or strain, so it’s most likely bruising of the bone. You’ll want to wrap it with a cold compress and stay off of it. Now your wrist,” Imadia tutted and Fenn whimpered. “Yeah, that’s broken. You’ll need to wear a sling for a few weeks.” She met Fenn’s eyes pointedly, “do not aggravate it. It will only take longer to heal.”

“Ah, elven soldiers make as bad of patients as human soldiers, huh?” Roche chuckled. 

Imadia snorted, “most certainly.”

She gestured for Finch to join Fenn on the cot, inspecting his arm. 

“I’ll need to set it,” she grimanced and Finch paled slightly, nodding quickly. “Likewise,” she spoke as she worked and Finch’s teeth clenched tightly, “you’ll need a splint.”

The elf healer took care of them with the ease of a true master, and with her skill came a motherly sort of compassion. Even for humans.

“Either of you two injured?” Imadia asked.

“I got a papercut,” Thirteen volunteered and Fenn growled.

“You don’t mind?” Roche asked thoughtlessly, “helping humans?”

Imadia scoffed, “a patient is a patient. I’ve lived too long and seen too much to worry about what someone’s ears look like – or don’t.”

He furrowed his brow, “but you’re with the Scoia’tael?”

“And? Are only human-haters allowed to fight for elven freedom?”

Roche opened his mouth, unsure what to say, but Imadia waved him away. 

“Bedrest,” she pointed at Fenn firmly, then turned to Finch as well, “give your body a chance to heal. Do not take the splint off, do not try to use your arm. Understood?” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Fenn muttered.

Finch just frowned at her. “Why would you help your enemies?”

“Why would  _ you _ ?” Imadia asked pointedly. “You may, of course, choose to follow medical advice or not. Though in this case, all that will accomplish is damage to yourself.”

Finch tilted his head, looking at Roche. Roche could read the question in his eyes,  _ why  _ did _ we help our enemies? _

“Because it’s what was best for Temeria,” Roche responded confidently, “and because you lived up to our trust.”

Thirteen breathed in sharply. 

Imadia smiled. “Then perhaps this land of equality has a chance, if even the Blue Stripes and the Scoia’tael can find some measure of trust for one another.” She turned to browse her herb supplies and took a small tin, offering it to Fenn. “Arnica flowers, for inflammation. Brew these into a tea and they should help with the pain in your leg. As for other pain management options–”

“I don’t want elven medicine,” Finch said stiffly and they all froze.

Except Imadia, who was probably used to such behavior from humans. “That’s a shame,” she said calmly, “as elven medicine is known to be superior to human techniques. But unfortunately, you’ve already received elven medicine, so you’ll just have to deal with that as you  _ leave _ my clinic, thank you.”

Roche glared at Finch. “Please excuse my commando’s rudeness,” he bowed the slightest amount to Imadia, nudging Thirteen until Thirteen followed. “Thank you for treating my men. What do we owe you?”

Imadia gazed at him consideringly. “I would like to believe this future we’re attempting to build is possible. You give me hope, pretty dh’oine, but there is a long way to go.” Roche flushed at being referred to as ‘pretty’ again, and Imadia’s mouth curved into a slight smile. “You owe me nothing – I am fortunate enough to be able to offer my healing services to any who need it.” She pursed her lips and looked over the two commandos still sitting on her treatment tables. “If you decide you would actually like to use your sword hands again, I would encourage you to accept treatment, elven or not. Do  _ not _ remove the splint. But of course, your life – and your hand – are yours to do with as you wish.”

Fenn sucked on his cheek and nodded. “Thank you,” he said slowly, uncomfortably. “Boss trusts you, and that’s good enough for me. How – how long should it take to heal entirely? I  _ do _ want to be able to use a sword again, thank you.”

“Your leg will take 1-2 weeks to fully heal,” Imadia said, “and your wrist likely about 8 weeks. Every body is different, though – it may be sooner, or it may be longer. The best way to encourage faster healing is to  _ rest _ and let your body focus on repairing itself.”

Roche made a face. Keeping these idiots from getting into trouble for more than a handful of minutes was already difficult. Keeping them bedbound and making them  _ rest!?  _

“Thirteen,” he decided, “since the three of you decided to get into idiocy together, I’m assigning you to make sure these two get the rest they need. That means,” he turned to the two sitting soldiers, “that you will follow Thirteen’s directions when he tells you to take a fucking break, understood?”

Finch looked downright mutinous, but he nodded. Fenn just sighed and Thirteen looked a little too excited at the prospect of making them follow his orders. Great.

Roche dragged a hand over his face. “All right, let’s go. You promised to clean up the mess you made – but we’ll take the train this time, keep you off that leg,” he nodded at Fenn.

“No no, we should definitely walk,” Thirteen insisted, a look of panic on his face. “Please don’t make me take the train.”

“How am I supposed to clean the library with a busted leg and arm!?” Fenn groused. He accepted the crutch that Imadia offered him when he tried to rise and pouted at Roche.

Finch said nothing, and Roche sighed again. This was going to be a long day – and he didn’t even get to enjoy a nice long nap.

“Okay,” he grunted, “let’s head back to the library.” 

Roche nodded to Imadia again and beckoned his men to get up and start heading out.

“Ah, can I have a moment, pretty dh’oine?” Imadia called.

Roche arched an eyebrow but went ahead and sent the others ahead of him.  _ “Straight _ to the library. And yes, Thirteen, you will take the train. You heard the healer – bedrest for the leg.”

“But we walked here,” Thirteen grumbled as the three of them headed back into the fray of the market, Fenn’s free hand clutching his crutch tightly.

Roche turned back to Imadia. “How can I help you?”

Imadia hesitated for a moment, then seemed to make a decision. “I wished to talk to you about Iorveth, actually.”

He blinked, swallowing back the automatic swelling in his chest that Iorveth’s name evoked. “What about him?”

Imadia turned to tinker with her supplies, keeping her hands busy as she spoke. “Are you aware of the divide in the Scoia’tael that has recently arisen?”

Roche grit his teeth against the memory of Ciaran throwing that condemning word at Iorveth, and nodded.

“Iorveth has been working to discover how many people he’s –  _ we’re  _ losing. As you may be able to imagine, this is taking quite a toll on our leader.”

He grimaced, imagining how he would feel if the people he led, if some of the Blue Stripes decided they could no longer follow him. A devastating blow for any commander, but for Iorveth, whose entire identity was wrapped around leading the Scoia’tael?

Roche swallowed, his heart hurting. “Why tell me?”

Imadia just gave him a look. “Whatever your relationship, you hold a clear regard for your opposite. If there is any way you can help him…” she trailed off, looking up to meet Roche’s gaze. “Well. Whatever you choose to do with the information is up to you. But I thought you might like to know.”

Roche nodded slightly. “Thank you – for everything. And I’m sorry about Finch.”

Imadia shrugged, “I’ve heard much worse. As patients go, they were actually rather docile. But as I’m sure you  _ do _ want your men to recover use of their sword arms–”

“Yeah,” he ran a hand through his hair, “yeah, I’ll make sure they follow instructions. As well as they’re capable of, anyway.”

“That is all I can ask,” Imadia smiled. “But I’ve held you up long enough. It was a pleasure to see you again, pretty dh’oine.”

Roche flushed again, clearing his throat. “I – uh, thank you? Um, nice to see you too.”

Then he stumbled away before he could sputter out something embarrassing, like how being called  _ pretty _ was starting to make him feel less awkward and more… warm? Happy? Like she was complimenting him, rather than mocking him.

And he was pretty sure she  _ was _ complimenting him. Wasn’t that an odd thing for a Scoia’tael medic to do?

Roche shook his head and started after Fenn, Finch, and Thirteen. 

By the time he reached the library – only getting lost twice! – the three troublemakers were already hard at work cleaning up the mess under Luka’s watchful eye. Since Fenn needed to rest his leg, he was sitting on a couch, sorting through a mess of documents, while Finch and Thirteen slowly reassembled the broken shelves.

Since Luka seemed to have the matter well in hand, Roche headed back towards the children’s section, where Anais and Boussy’s lessons were taking place and Ves was lurking unobtrusively nearby. 

“Any problems?” he checked with her first.

“Nothing to report,” Ves shook her head. Then she hesitated, biting her lip. “They’re – not what I expected.”

“What do you mean?”

“Dwarves, elves, this place – all of it. How can somewhere that invites and forgives bandits like the Scoia’tael be this… I dunno,  _ nice,  _ I guess.”

“Well, they haven’t really forgiven the Scoia’tael,” Roche pointed out. “They are welcome here, as citizens. But Saskia’s been very adamant that all of us need to earn forgiveness and/or respect for ourselves, based on our own actions.”

“You did it again,” Ves frowned. 

“What?”

“Turned a conversation about the Scoia’tael into one about both of us.” Her brow knit, “do you really consider us to similar to them? They’re nothing but unlawful bandits!”

Roche shrugged, “I mean, we exist because of them, right? Two sides of the same coin, in a way. But no, I don’t think we’re the same – in terms of what we fight for, we’re exact opposites. Or we were…”

“Were?”

“Well,” he dragged the word out, “we’re not exactly hunting nonhumans here, are we?”

“No,” Ves muttered. “...should we be?”

He stared at her in surprise.

“I mean, I’m always ready to fight the Scoia’tael, don’t get me wrong. Those bastards deserve to die at the end of my knives and they know it. But some of these other nonhumans… they’re not so bad, I guess.”

“Yeah,” Roche agreed quietly. “I’ve – I guess I kind of changed our mission parameters without really giving you a chance to object. Sorry.”

“You’re the boss, Boss,” Ves said, smiling slightly. Roche was mildly terrified. “I don’t think you were wrong. We’re serving Temeria’s best interests the only way we know how. But I think it might be helpful to be clear on what our role here actually is. Do we fall under Saskia’s jurisdiction? Do we have authority in Vergen and the rest of the Free Pontar Valley? What is our primary objective?”

“Yeah,” Roche nodded. “I’ll talk to Saskia, get some clarity for us. Right now, what I  _ know _ is that we need someone with the kids at all times. There’s no present threat, but I’d rather be overproctive than not. And Temeria… we can’t do anything until we have information. But Nilfgaard will soon…”

Ves grit her teeth, jerking her cin sharply in agreement. “You know we weren’t trained as a covert unit. Not exactly.”

Roche snorted, “I hope I know how I trained you. But you’re right – we’re not spies, and I don’t want us to become ones. What we are is a damned good strike force – and I’m not sure what need there is for that right now. But with Nilfgaard coming, there will undoubtedly be a need soon.”

Ves pursed her lips. “Of course, two of our number are now out of commission and three others are away, so I suppose it’s a moot point at the moment.”

He clapped her on the shoulder, “a little clarity isn’t a bad thing to want, even if the answer is that we  _ can’t _ do much right now.” 

Roche scanned over the lesson a short distance from them. Anais and Boussy stuck out like sore thumbs amongst the rows of incredibly small dwarven toddlers, but they didn’t look uncomfortable, though Anais’s attention seemed to be wandering.

She’d probably prefer fight training right now, the precious firebrand.

“Oh,” Roche remembered, “can you run Thirteen through extra drills tonight? Tell him if he can’t keep up with you – you know, actually, I’m sure you can come up with something better than I can. Just threaten him into shape, will you?”

“Of course. Losing to two children, he should be ashamed,” Ves snorted. “I will make him cry.”

“I mean, you don’t have to–”

“No, he needs to cry,” Ves decided. “Besides, with Fenn and Finch both injured, he’s going to need to pull some extra weight.”

“As long as they’re too busy to pull shit like this for  _ at least _ a week, I’m happy,” Roche bargained. There always had to be time limits on things like this – he’d learned that about his team long ago. After all, he’d recruited them partially  _ because  _ they were all fucking insane. He could hardly expect them to no longer be so when it was inconvenient.

Still, they couldn’t have waited another  _ hour _ to interrupt his nap??

“I’ll stay on the kids the rest of the day,” Roche said. “Can you make sure Luka doesn’t irrevocably damage our idiots? You know how frustrated they can get over books.”

“That does tend to happen when people can’t read,” Ves pointed out.

“Yeah, in retrospect, it was a terrible idea to leave them in charge of research,” he rubbed the back of his head. “I blame sleep deprivation. Thank you for  _ actually _ starting on the research.”

“Of course, sir,” Ves said blandly. 

At that moment, a dwarf Roche didn’t recognize approached them. “Commander Roche, sir?” they said, a nervousness in their voice that made Roche feel guilty even though he had no reason to.

“Yes?”

“Saskia asked me to inform you that she will be holding a council session in an hour and would like yourself and Anais and Boussy La Valette to attend,” they reported dutifully, stumbling over Anais and Boussy’s names slightly. 

“We’ll be there,” Roche confirmed. “Thank you.”

The dwarf jumped, as if his thanks was a viper strike, and scurried away.

Ves just snorted. But then, she had always enjoyed when people feared her.

Roche used to like the feeling, too. When had that changed?

Maybe since that moment two terrified children had looked up at him with trust from the other side of Dethmold’s barrier and he realized that there was nothing powerful in being feared by helpless people. Or perhaps the moment Anais had moved away from Iorveth in fear and all Roche could think about was how much hurt Iorveth hid behind the small frown on his face.

Thinking about Iorveth had him thinking about the last time he’d seen Iorveth yesterday and the clusterfuck that had turned into. And now Imadia, who Iorveth had looked at with such fond respect when they’d met her in Vergen – now she was worried about Iorveth, too. It made his own worry feel valid, but it mostly just deepened it. Iorveth was going through some shit and dammit, Roche wanted to be able to hold him and help him and the fact that Roche couldn’t – 

He dug his fingernails into his palm. 

Except it wasn’t really “couldn’t”.  _ Wouldn’t,  _ maybe, except how would he be able to when just Brigida finding out about them had gone so badly – and she didn’t even have the Blue Stripes’ hatred for the Scoia’tael in general and Iorveth specifically, at least not the same extent.

Roche glanced at Ves out of the corner of his eye and bit his lip. How would Ves respond if she learned? How would any of them? Would his position be reversed with Iorveth’s – trust in his command lost, his people splitting up and leaving…

He swallowed hard, trying to pull himself together. It hadn’t happened – not to  _ him _ anyway. But Iorveth?

Fuck, Iorveth must  _ really _ need someone right about now. And Roche really, really wanted to be that person.

But how could he, without making everything worse?

A clatter of movement had him refocusing on the moment, and he turned to see that the children’s class had ended and Anais and Boussy were making a beeline for him and Ves.

A mere three paces away, Anais broke into a run and Roche braced himself for the hit. Sure enough, she collided solidly with his middle, wrapping her arms tightly around him as her head just happened to nail his solar plexus. Ves laughed at him as he gasped desperately for breath and Boussy approached much more sedately, though he was bouncing on his feet slightly. Practically screaming with excitement for him.

“So,” Roche rasped, “learn anything interesting?”

“Yeah!” Boussy cheered, “we learned that Vergen is the only free-standing mountain in Aedirn! Which means it’s not part of a mountain range, like the Maha-mak-makam–,” his face scrunched in frustration.

“Mahakaman?” Roche tried, “Ma-ha-ka-man.”

“Mahakaman,” Boussy repeated slowly. “Mahakaman. Yeah, like the Mahakaman Mountains! But Vergen is all alone!”

Roche tilted his head, Boussy’s words reminding him of the view from Vergen’s peak. It really  _ was _ all alone, wasn’t it? Huh.

Hadn’t Triss said only the goat herders lived up there? Nice, empty, beautiful area, and surely the herders had shelter somewhere up there.

He chewed on his lip, turning the vague idea over his head. 

He would have to think about it more. But for now–

“And what about you, Anais? Did you learn anything interesting?”

“Yeah,” she grumbled into his stomach, “Elder is stupid and boring.”

Roche frowned. “What makes you say that?”

“Nothing. Just stupid.” She didn’t move her face away from his armor and he sighed, bending down and hugging her properly.

“Remember how we said reasons are important? Elder isn’t stupid, it’s a language. But why did  _ you _ find it stupid and boring?”

Anais shifted as he hugged her, burying her face in his neck. “It’s stupid,” she insisted. “They should all just speak Common. That’s why it’s  _ called _ Common.”

“Except Elder was the common language on the continent first,” Roche pointed out. “So by saying that, you’re saying that all those other kids should have to learn a different language,  _ your _ language. So tell me why. Why should everyone speak Common?”

“Because then I’ll understand them! And everyone knows Common is better anyway!”

He rubbed her back. “I’m sorry it’s hard to understand the other kids. But no, everyone  _ doesn’t  _ know that. How would you feel if everyone around you said that  _ your _ language was dumb and they should learn to speak a new one?”

“But that’s what you’re doing!” Anais wailed and Roche flinched slightly, still rubbing her back.

“That was never my intention,” he said carefully, “but if that is how I made you feel, then I’m sorry. I thought Elder would be useful for you to learn, but I shouldn’t have pushed you into it.”

Ves coughed beside them. “The council meeting, sir,” she reminded him.

Roche squeezed Anais and drew away to rise to his feet, but she refused to let go.

“Council?” Boussy asked. “Are we going to Saskia early today? Please? ‘Cause then I got my glassblowing apprenticeship and that’s gonna be sooooo cool!!!”

“We are,” Roche said, picking Anais up properly. “She’s summoned us to a council meeting, I assume about the – ah,” he bit his lip, realizing that his intel about the rift in the Scoia’tael came from places he’d rather not admit to.

Ves turned to him with a cocked eyebrow.

“Well,” he tried to recover, “the refugees from Loc Muinne arrived recently. And uh, apparently some Scoia’tael are not thrilled about living alongside humans.”

“Not surprising. We’re not exactly thrilled to have them here either.”

Roche just sighed, holding out a hand for Boussy. “How about we find out from Saskia why she’s called us, hmm?”

Boussy took his hand, still bouncing with energy. “Are Mr. Thirteen and Mr. Fenn and Mr. Finch gonna come too?”

“No,” Ves smirked, “no, they are currently cleaning up their mess and they probably will be for a while.”

“Wait,” Roche asked belatedly, “I thought you were in an Elder language class. Why did you learn about Vergen’s, uh, free-standing status?”

“We read a book about Vergen!” Boussy answered. “It was all this cool stuff that makes Vergen special.”

“It was in Elder,” Anais muttered grumpily.

“Anais is just pissy because  _ she’s  _ never done bad in school before,” Boussy rolled his eyes. “It wasn’t that hard and the others were all nice, even if they were babies.”

“You’re a baby!” Anais twisted in Roche’s arms to stick her tongue out at her brother.

“All right, you two,” he interrupted. “That’s enough of that. C’mon, let’s just get to Saskia’s council, hmm?”

Anais pouted, ducking her face back into his neck. Boussy just shrugged. “Anyway, you know how Saskia said Vergen has people get lost lots? It’s true! It was the first thing in the book! Humans consider it to be The Most Confusing City. But they’re very proud of that?”

“You seem to find your way around all right,” Roche, who definitely had not gotten lost every single time he’d gone anywhere alone, said with absolutely no jealousy at all.

“It’s easy!” Boussy said and thanks kiddo, that did not at all make him feel inadequate. 

“Well, good, in that case, why don’t you lead us?”

Ves covered her snort in a cough, but Boussy happily showed them the way.

Once the castle was visible in the distance, Roche felt the need to defend himself. “See, I know the way from  _ here.” _

“Uh huh,” Ves said tonelessly.

Boussy giggled. “I like this part of Vergen. It feels – I dunno,  _ good.  _ Like care went into it.”

Roche blinked. “I mean, I just like the coffee. But yeah, care. Sure,” he shrugged. “Good that you like it, though. I have a feeling a lot of our time will be spent around here.”

_ “And _ it has the best playground,” Boussy giggled.

“Always a good thing,” he grinned at the boy. 

When they reached Saskia’s council chambers, there were a handful of dwarves and humans already there that sent Roche, Ves, and the children mixed looks. 

“Guard the door,” he murmured to Ves and she nodded, discreetly breaking off and melting into the stone. He really wished she would teach him how she did that.

Anais finally deigned to detach from him and settled in her own seat, next to Saskia’s at the entrance. Boussy sat next to her and Roche took his seat, still feeling awkward at the idea of actually  _ being _ at the table, instead of in the shadows. He distracted himself from the feeling by observing the people around him, taking note of every little thing he could, just in case.

He bit his lip when Iorveth entered and sat carefully in the chair on Saskia’s other side, back straight and glare already in place. Except Roche had started to get good at seeing what Iorveth didn’t want to show, and underneath the put-together exterior, he looked absolutely ragged. 

Gods, Roche wanted to hold him so badly.

But Iorveth avoided his gaze, pointedly staring into space without meeting anyone’s eyes. To most, it probably looked like a glare, and it  _ was,  _ but only because glaring had probably long since become Iorveth’s default state. But under that glare, there was pure exhaustion and pain and–

The doors clattered open, startling Roche into jolting in his seat. Fortunately, everyone else was already turning to watch Saskia’s entrance and she waved everyone into their seats. 

“There are a number of matters on which we need an immediate decision,” Saskia said, “most of them concerning the settlement and resettlement of people. Firstly, the refugees from Loc Muinne have arrived, and they are interested in establishing their own settlement not far from Vergen. I have made it clear that they will be expected to obey and enforce our laws, and that all species must be welcome. However,” she paused, every eye in the room on her, “we have also received a petition from a number of Scoia’tael elves who wish to live away from humans.”

“Good,” someone muttered, “don’t want them here anyway.”

Saskia glared, and Roche felt the shiver down his spine even without her anger focused on him.  _ “I _ want them here,” Saskia said, “because I want  _ all  _ people here. However, I have no wish to hold anyone here who does not desire it. My concern is that this will create an institutionalized divide between humans and elves. Therefore, I would like to hear your perspectives.”

“What happens if they  _ don’t _ get their settlement?” One of the humans asked, glaring fiercely at Iorveth.

Iorveth did not acknowledge him at all, and honestly, Roche was kind of concerned that Iorveth might not have even noticed. How out of it was the elf?

Saskia gave them all a firm look. “If our freedom was being held random, I would not bring this to you. I do not fear repercussions from those elves who feel uncomfortable living alongside humans. What I  _ do _ expect is that they will leave whether we like it or not. The question is, what do we do about it?”

“Not to be that dwarf,” Cecil Burdon, Vergen’s Alderman, spoke up, “but if they’re going to do it anyway, my view is make it official – taxes and all. Funding a new realm isn’t easy and if they’re part of it, they gotta contribute. Even if they don’t like it.”

“Hmm,” another dwarf said, “it could be safer this way. Everyone goes their separate ways, no hard feelings. Doesn’t have to be law that humans aren’t allowed – it’s not like any human is likely t’wanna go!”

“That’s one way to get all the malcontents out of Vergen,” someone muttered.

“Why’s the Squirrel still here, then?”

Saskia glared. “Because I want him here. Because without the Scoia’tael, this would be Kaedweni land right now and we all know it.”

People shifted uncomfortably around the room.

“How many people are we talking about, anyway?”

Everyone turned to Iorveth and Roche bit his lip, remembering Ciaran’s words.  _ In return for my silence, you shall not oppose the building of an elf-only enclave. _

Iorveth’s jaw was tight and his lips barely moved when he responded, “314 elves and 3 dwarves.”

“3 dwarves? Really?” Yarpen Zigrin snorted.

“Stoneheaded fools,” someone whispered.

Saskia cleared her throat again, very pointed, giving all of them unimpressed looks. “I would like to put it to a vote. Those who believe that the elves and dwarves led by the elf Ciaran should create an elf-only town as part of the  _ Free _ Pontar Valley, say aye.”

She, Roche noticed, never said aye.

He wasn’t really sure why he didn’t. Except that Iorveth looked like he was in so much pain and how could Roche ever vote in support of that. 

Clearly that was not a primary concern for many others, though he thought it might actually be part of Saskia’s reasoning. Still, it was obvious that they were outnumbered.

“Very well,” Saskia nodded sharply. “To our next order of business, then. Triss, if you would,” she gestured and Roche realized with a start that he hadn’t even noticed Triss entering. 

“Nilfgaard has crossed into Temeria,” Triss reported. “Thus far, they do not appear to have split their forces around the Mahakaman Mountains, but as a new realm, we can expect that after,” she faltered for a moment, “after they tear Temeria apart, they will likely turn their attention here.”

“I want all scouts on alert,” Saskia said. “I believe we can face Nilfgaard, if it comes to that. But more than anything, we must be ready for the possibility.” She met each person’s gaze evenly. “Now, where are we with–”

As the meeting continued, Roche’s fatigue got the better of him and he ended up zoning out the actual words, instead watching Saskia and Iorveth. Saskia, because Saskia was not someone who would ever be ignored. When she was in a room, all attention fell naturally upon her. Her voice was soothing as she spoke and gestured, and Roche’s eyelids felt heavy.

But he determinedly kept forcing them open, kept his eyes focused on Iorveth, who still sat there blankly as if he wasn’t falling apart.

The idea from earlier reared its head and Roche considered it. Iorveth needed a break before  _ he _ broke, that was clear. But of course Iorveth would never admit that was what he needed – if what Imadia had said was any indication, Iorveth was every bit as much of a stubborn bastard as Roche was.

Roche wanted to find out firsthand. He wanted to  _ know _ that Iorveth would never ask for time off because he knew Iorveth.

He bit his lip, still staring absently. If he wanted Iorveth to take a break and he wanted to be part of it… maybe he needed to make the first move. 

Could he do that? Just take a vacation with Iorveth because they both really needed it?

The logical answer was no, and he shouldn’t even want to. 

But he  _ did _ want to. And maybe he should be ashamed of that fact, but right now, Roche was too damned tired to care. 

What would it take to make a vacation happen?

Well, the kids were the first priority of course. Would taking a break from – well, from  _ life _ be interpreted by the kids as him abandoning them? How could he make sure that  _ didn’t _ happen?

And the Stripes – well, that timing might just work out perfectly, considering Fenn was supposed to be on bedrest for a few days. If he left Ves in charge, she and Thirteen and Finch could cycle guard duty of Anais and Boussy and still all have the opportunity to rest. 

Brigida – well, who even knew what was going on with Brigida now? He tried to ignore the sour ache that thought brought on. Brigida had made it clear she didn’t want anything to do with him. That was her right, and he would do his best to respect it – but damn it all, it fucking  _ hurt.  _

And they hadn’t even been that close for years. How much worse would it be when Ves found out?

Roche shivered, swallowing hard. Even with that fear so very present, he  _ still _ wanted to be with Iorveth. Shouldn’t he take advantage of the time they had now?

A sharp kick to his shin had him jerking back to awareness just as the meeting wrapped to a close, and Triss sent him a significant look, clearly the culprit.

_ Did you space out the entire meeting!? Are you okay? _

He rubbed his face.  _ Just tired. Actually, can you wait a bit? I have something to ask Saskia – and you. _

_ Well, now I’m intrigued, _ Triss smiled.  _ Of course I can. _

Roche covered a yawn and opened his eyes to see that Iorveth had already managed to escape the room. Hmph. He wasn’t at all disappointed that Iorveth hadn’t taken the opportunity to touch him as the elf left like the last meeting. Not at all.

Saskia was chatting amicably with Boussy – with Anais still pouting between them – and once everyone else had filtered out of the room, Roche turned to her.

“I – I have a request.” Was that nervousness in his voice? He cleared his throat and tried again. “Um, I know the timing isn’t the best with the whole building-a-new-kingdom thing, but uh…”

“Do spit it out, Vernon,” Saskia said.

“I’m worried about Iorveth,” he babbled quickly, “and I was wondering if a break would be possible, just the two of us.”

Anais froze, and Roche suddenly felt much less sure of this idea.

“A break?” Saskia arched her eyebrow, darting a look at Triss, who lingered a few seats down from Roche. “What did you have in mind?”

He bit his lip. “I was thinking, uh,” he cleared his throat, feeling ridiculously awkward in front of the two women in the world who it probably mattered the least to.  _ Everyone _ looked awkward next to Saskia and Triss.

Swallowing, he straightened his shoulders and faced his request head on.

“On Vergen’s peak, I imagine there are a few simple cabins for herders to take shelter in? I think we could both use time away and would be more useful to you after taking some time. I’d like to ask for a few days’ vacation for myself and for Iorveth.”

Saskia’s lips curled upwards. “I think we can make that happen.”

“No,” Anais said, and they all turned to look at her.

“No?” Triss asked.

“No!” Anais said again, standing up on her chair. “No! You can’t go!”

“Anais–” Roche reached for her and something sharp spiked through his chest when she pulled away.

“No! You  _ said _ you were gonna take care of us now! You’re  _ Uncle Roche  _ – you can’t just leave!” There were sobs building up in her voice and Roche had done a lot of terrible things in his life, but nothing felt more terrible than this.

“It would just be a few days, Anais. I promise I’m not leaving you – I won’t ever do that.”

“But you  _ are!”  _ Anais wailed and he saw Triss wince out of the corner of his eye, but all he could focus on was the little girl in front of him whose cries made him hurt more than anything ever had.

“No, I’m  _ not,  _ Anais, I promise. Iorveth–”

“I don’t care about that stupid elf!” Anais screamed, “I don’t care, I don’t care, I don’t care! He can’t have you!”

“Anais–” he tried to reach out for her again and she slapped his hand away. 

“You can’t go!”

“Enough,” Saskia said suddenly, and there was a deep quality to her voice that made it so easy to give in, so easy to turn desperately to someone who could make it better. “Anais, I understand you’re upset, but that doesn’t mean you can hit people.” Saskia’s firm tone softened and she reached out to stroke through Anais’s hair.

Anais let her, and that didn’t hurt at all either.

“Your Uncle Roche is entitled to his own friends, just like you are. I know you’re scared, but please listen when we say he’s not going to leave you. You have a home here now and we will not leave you.”

Anais whimpered slightly.

“I promise, Anais,” Roche said softly, curling his fist to keep himself from reaching out. What if she wasn’t ready for that yet? “I promise I will never leave you. I’m not asking to leave you, sweetheart. I just need a break to get some rest, okay? That’s all.”

“Why?” Anais cried, tears flowing over and oh gods, how could he have done this to her?

Saskia must have read his heartbroken face because she stepped in. “Because when we go through a lot of change all at once, it exhausts our spirits and we need time to recover. Just like you need reassurance that you have family around you, your Uncle Roche needs some rest to find his own reassurance.”

“How about this?” Triss offered, “why don’t Geralt and I come stay with you and Brigida while your Uncle Roche is away. I know it’s not the same,  _ but _ I also have a way that your uncle could call you each evening. Would that be okay?”

Anais narrowed her eyes, weighing the offer as she sniffled and gasped for air. Saskia rubbed her back softly and as much as Roche wanted to be doing that right now, it was maybe for the best to show Anais that others cared for her too.

_ “Every _ night?” Anais sniffed.

“I swear it upon the Lilies,” Roche said solemnly, bringing his hand to his heart.

Anais gulped, rubbing her face. “I hate today,” she whimpered, “first Magda, then the stupid class, then this! I hate it!”

“Magda?” Saskia asked in surprise.

“We met this morning,” Anais nodded, “she’s my best friend. But her – her tui-tust–”

“Tuiste,” Saskia supplied. 

“Yeah, that. They said we can’t be friends! Why  _ not!?” _ Anais shrieked.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Anais,” Saskia said softly. “Some people don’t understand yet. But best friends are best friends, right? If you believe in it and Magda believes in it, you can make it happen.”

“Best friends are best friends,” Anais repeated. “That’s what Magda said.”

“Then we’ll find a way to make it happen,” Saskia promised.

Roche bit his lip, hoping that was something she  _ could _ promise. After all, Ciaran was evidence that there were certainly nonhumans who would never want their children to associate with humans.

Triss murmured something under her breath, twisting her hands in the air until a goblet of water appeared above her raised palm.

“Cool!” Boussy gasped. 

“Drink some water, Anais, and we can talk about how to convince Magda’s tuiste that you should be friends, hmm?”

“Okay,” Anais said quietly and Roche sighed in relief. Between Saskia and Triss, the children would be more than well taken care of. And, as he struggled to keep his eyes open, he was already dreaming of the possibility of sleeping in without rowdy eight year olds waking him at the crack of dawn. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, it's vacation time!


	23. Arc 3: Vacation Day 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roche and Iorveth take a vacation from reality. Some parts of it go better than others.

Roche wasn’t nervous. There was absolutely no reason for him to be nervous. None at all.

It wasn’t like he was standing alone on the top of a mountain desperately hoping that his secret forbidden lover would show up.

“Gods, sounds like a bad romance novel,” he groaned, scrubbing a hand over his face. “One of Dandelion’s absurd ballads.”

“Is that a bad thing?” Iorveth’s low voice asked from right behind him and fucking hell, how did elves sneak like that!?

Roche tried to turn his jump into a turn and mostly just managed to stumble. “Iorveth,” he yelped. 

Iorveth’s lips twitched upwards, but as Roche took him in, he could see the pure exhaustion weighing Iorveth down.

“Rinn said you asked me to come here,” Iorveth murmured, as if speaking louder required more effort than he was capable of at the moment.

Roche ached to hold him, but first – first he had to explain. He licked his lips and started, “I’m – uh, well really Saskia too – uh, we’re worried about you.” 

Gods, why hadn’t he rehearsed what he was going to say here?

“We thought you could use a break and – um, there’s a cabin up here, totally isolated. Just the mountain and the fresh air and nature. And I, um, I thought you might like that.” Iorveth’s eyebrow slowly rose and Roche hastened to finish, “Saskia gave us time off. Well, I mean – uh, I’d _like_ to stay with you up here. But if you – if you need some space or just, you know, whatever, I can – this is for you. So…it’s your choice.”

Iorveth tilted his head. “You want to stay,” he said slowly, and Roche nodded, biting his lip. “Then show me this cabin.”

The words were tired, but Iorveth tried a smile again, and this time it looked passably happy. Roche waved his hand for Iorveth to proceed him and stepped in close, placing a hand at the small of Iorveth’s back.

He held his breath, waiting for Iorveth to pull away, but instead he seemed to melt into Roche. Roche bit his lip against the flood of relief, his eyes burning slightly. With the way things had gone last time, he hadn’t been sure that Iorveth would still be receptive. But gods, he was so, so glad that Iorveth seemed to be.

The cabin wasn’t far from where he’d asked Iorveth to meet him, and as they walked, goats baa’d nearby and birds chirped in the trees and the wind rustled through the leaves, and okay, maybe Roche kind of understood what elves saw in nature. The actual cabin was a simple one-room building with a divider to give the “bedroom” the illusion of privacy. Basic, yes, but It was nicer than many places they had both slept.

In front of the cabin, Roche had strung up a hammock with the idea that Iorveth might enjoy relaxing outdoors. Roche guided Iorveth towards it and Iorveth huffed a laugh when he saw it.

“So thoughtful,” Iorveth murmured.

“I try,” Roche grinned. “C’mon, you look like you could use a nap, and I _know_ I could.” 

He was wearing casual clothing, rather than his layers of armor, but Iorveth had come clad in his usual armor, though Roche had absently been hoping to see those elven robes again. Still, Iorveth would be much more comfortable _without_ the chainmail, so Roche reached out with questioning hands to touch the leather buckles.

Iorveth nodded tiredly, his movements sluggish as he helped Roche pull his armor off. Roche heaped it onto a bench next to the door and then crawled onto the hammock, beckoning Iorveth closer. Iorveth came easily, and shifted wherever Roche moved him with so little resistance that Roche was starting to worry. 

Finally, they settled with Roche laying on his back with Iorveth between his legs, cheek resting against his chest. His hands came up to touch the bandana Iorveth still wore and he asked quietly, “can I?”

Iorveth nodded wordlessly, and Roche unknotted the bandana, setting it to the side. Then he began stroking his hands through Iorveth’s hair, luxuriating in the fact that he _finally_ had Iorveth in his arms again. 

Iorveth relaxed further into him with each pass of his fingers over Iorveth’s scalp and before long, Iorveth’s breathing evened out, his eyelashes fluttering over his cheek,

“Sleep,” Roche murmured, “we’re safe here.”

Iorveth hummed, nuzzling into his chest.

They stayed like that for long hours, drowsing between sleep and waking and just enjoying the moment. 

* * *

When the sun was nearly directly overhead, Roche’s stomach was starting to growl – and he _knew_ Iorveth could always use more food. He prodded Iorveth’s side gently, and watching the elf come awake was an experience – first his nose scrunched up, then his mouth pouted and he nuzzled further into his pillow. He took a deep breath and seemed to slowly register that his pillow was trying to get his attention and grunted out a jumbled, “ngh?”

“Lunch time,” Roche said.

“Mmm, later.” Iorveth did not move, nuzzling back against Roche’s chest.

Roche laughed. “Well, _I’m_ hungry. Besides, you’re too skinny, you could use some feeding up.”

Iorveth huffed in offense. 

“You can whine about how human food is too savory,” Roche tempted.

“Why whine when I can fix it?”

“Even better,” Roche chuckled. “Show me how elves cook.”

Iorveth twisted to give him a considering look. “Fine,” Iorveth said eventually, squirming to get off the hammock. “What are we making?”

“Rabbit stew?” He suggested with a shrug. 

Iorveth narrowed his eyes. “I choose the spices.”

“Fine.”

They entered the cabin and Roche pulled the potatoes out of the pantry where he’d stowed them earlier. “You wanna hunt for a few hares?”

“Too difficult for a human, hmm?”

“Well, you do have the bow and all.”

Iorveth snorted, biting his lip against a smile. Still, Roche saw it and something in his chest soared. 

“I’ll start the tubers, you get the meat.”

“Deal.”

Iorveth moved to grab his bow from the pile outside and Roche turned to chopping the potatoes and starting the stew base. He began humming as he worked, different tunes, random ones. Without even noticing it, he slipped into singing soft snatches from some of his favorite love songs, the ones his mother had taught him as they danced around the kitchen, preparing food just like this. 

_“I’d sacrifice anything come what might for the sake of having you near. In spite of the warning voice that comes in the night and repeats, how it yells in my ear–”_

He bustled around, setting a pot of water to boil and chopping up carrots and some sort of root vegetable that someone at the market had talked him into. 

_“–wake up to reality. But each time that I do, just the though of you makes me stop before I begin. ‘Cause I’ve got you –_ oh, Iorveth,” Roche startled, not having realized the elf had returned. 

“Your voice is nice,” Iorveth said softly and Roche flushed.

Oh gods, Iorveth had just caught him singing _love song_ of all things. Couldn’t the elf have just shot him instead? It would be so much less embarrassing.

But instead of ragging on him, Iorveth just held out three rabbits, already skinned and prepared. 

“Oh, thank you. I dunno how much we got in the way of spices, but take a look,” Roche waved Iorveth over to the pantry and busied himself with adding the meat and absolutely _not_ blushing.

Given how hot his ears felt, it was not working.

He swallowed, clearing his throat. 

Iorveth made a small triumphant noise and held up a dusty bottle of wine. “Found us something to wet our throats with.”

“Oh, perfect. Stew will take a bit – what say we open the wine now?”

Iorveth, way ahead of him, already had the cork popped and was filling two chipped ceramic mugs. Roche clinked his cup against Iorveth’s and they sat at the little table, drinking and chatting about nothing of importance.

There was something so relieving about talking about things that were of absolutely no consequence, rather than something that dozens of lives depended on.

* * *

After lunch, Iorveth climbed the mountain slope to play his flute alone for a while. Roche, on the other hand, surreptitiously pulled out a certain book and a block of wood with one rounded petal carved out. He genuinely didn’t understand how Finch spent so much of his time doing something _so fucking boring._ But it was carve or attempt to grow a plant, and if he was gonna be out of his comfort zone, there was no need to go too far.

Setting up on the bench outside, Roche peeled away wood shavings slowly but surely and continued reading the book on elven courting that Luka had given him. He still had no idea what he was doing, but if there was ever a good time to try courting Iorveth, this had to be it, right? Aside from the whole mental breakdown thing Iorveth was dealing with.

Roche chewed on his lip. Maybe this was all actually a terrible idea. Iorveth had enough on his plate. He didn’t need to worry about Roche’s stupid feelings.

Then again, if they were going to be spending this vacation together, what was the harm in attempting to court Iorveth? If Iorveth was too distracted or didn’t respond, then obviously he would back off. But if there was any chance Iorveth might be receptive… 

Well, he had to try, didn’t he? So, carving it was. 

Tongue sticking out of his mouth the slightest bit, Roche set to work with a single minded focus.

It lasted long enough to carve out another two flower petals, and it was actually starting to look like it might be… well, something, anyway. 

Rocks scattering and the lilting sound of a flute warned him that Iorveth was approaching and Roche hastily stuffed the book and the carving into an empty flowerpot, standing to meet Iorveth.

“Have fun?” 

Iorveth smiled, a genuine bright smile and Roche felt his breath catch. “This place is lovely.”

“It really is.” He meant to look out at the view as he spoke, but he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off of Iorveth. 

Iorveth noticed and the mischievous twinkle that had been missing from his eye lately was back. “There’s a spring a little ways up. I was thinking of going for a swim.”

“Is that an invitation?”

Iorveth smirked, “you’ll have to find out.”

Roche laughed, reaching out to touch Iorveth’s back as they walked. Iorveth had never bothered to redon his armor, and the simple tunic and hose were thin. Roche wondered if his hand felt hot against Iorveth’s skin, if it made Iorveth’s heart beat frantically the way Roche’s was. 

The spring wasn’t far, the clear water shining in the late afternoon sun. There was something strangely awkward about undressing in front of Iorveth, even though they’d certainly seen all there was to see about each other. But in this moment, without the intention of sex, it felt weird to bare his skin – _casual,_ like there was nothing significant about what was probably the first time they’d been naked together without sex involved.

Though, realistically, they hadn’t actually been naked together that often, had they? Maybe that was the problem. Iorveth was an elf, all sharp angles, long lines, and lean strength as he easily shucked his clothes and dove into the water. But Roche, hesitating over his tunic, was… well, not that. And without the haze of lust distracting them, it would be very, very obvious that he wasn’t. 

Not that he was unattractive. He just wasn’t twenty anymore, and humans… well, humans aged, and it _showed._ His face was bad enough – frown lines vivid, bags under his eyes permanent, skin pitted and pockmarked with little cuts and scars. It was hardly as though Iorveth could have missed all that by this point, but Roche knew that some people found a sort of rugged appeal in that.

But the rest of him? The way his body had gotten softer over the years – a little extra pudge around the stomach, less definition in his muscles, bones creaky in a way he’d always thought was just adults complaining but really, really wasn’t. What about that could someone whose body hadn’t changed in centuries find appealing about that?

“Vernon?” Iorveth called, and Roche abruptly became aware that he’d been standing on the banks with his trousers off, fingers fiddling with his tunic while he stared into space.

He shook himself, and stripped his tunic off quickly, pointedly not thinking about it as he rushed into the water, swimming over to Iorveth.

Iorveth tilted his head, wearing that ragged bandana again and Roche reached out without thinking to tug at it.

“Can’t possibly be comfortable with that wet.”

Iorveth licked his lips, his eye darting wildly over Roche’s face. Whatever he was searching for, he seemed to find, because he said, “you’re the only one who ever wants to see it.”

Roche just blinked. “See – oh. Well, no one else around now,” he said softly, “‘less you count the goats.”

Iorveth snorted, sucking his lower lip into his mouth as he reached up to take the bandana off – and then, the only warning Roche had was the mischievous sparkle in Iorveth’s eye before the soaking wet bandana was thrown in his face.

“Oh, I see how it is,” Roche laughed, sweeping his arm through the water to splash Iorveth back. 

Iorveth met him splash for splash and before long, rough, crackling chuckles became interspersed with the slap of water. Roche’s breath caught at the sound, the first time he’d _ever_ heard such a carefree sound from Iorveth, and he’d provoked it.

The warmth in his chest drove his own laughter into a kind of giddy glee, but he could hardly be bothered to care, not when he had a splash battle to win and a gorgeous elf vying for his attention.

Iorveth swam close, and then the fucking asshole dunked Roche, using his whole body to force Roche’s head under. In response, Roche scrabbled at Iorveth’s back and sides, pinching ticklish spots. Iorveth jerked away with a snort of bubbles and they both resurfaced, sputtering and laughing. 

“Betcha I can swim faster than you,” Roche challenged and Iorveth scoffed.

“You’re on, dh’oine.”

Roche _did_ actually win the race. And Iorveth was 100% a sore loser about it and immediately demanded a rematch. That he won, dammit. 

“Best of three?”

“Why not best of five?” Iorveth countered.

“What, you know you’re gonna lose the next one and want a way out, huh?”

“Scared of you? Never. I simply know that humans need ample evidence to believe something.”

“And what am I supposed to believe here?”

“That I’m faster, obviously,” Iorveth flipped his wet hair back. 

“Ha! You will indeed need to present amble evidence, for I shall prove you wrong!” 

With that said, Roche kicked off and started swimming while Iorveth swore behind him.

In the end, he wasn’t sure how many races they swam or who ultimately ended up winning. Obviously, they both claimed it was themselves – and Roche was pretty sure it _was,_ in fact, him, but pah, elves. At any rate, they thoroughly exhausted themselves swimming and Roche squinted up at the sky, considering. 

The late afternoon sun would be perfect to dry them and he flopped onto the ground, pillowing his arms behind his head, as Iorveth lounged next to him.

He was half starting to doze when he felt the fingers tracing down his sternum. Iorveth explored lazily, carding through his chest hair.

Abruptly, Roche was reminded of his concerns about his body, but before he could react, Iorveth said softly, “I didn’t know humans could be beautiful.”

His breath hitched. “That’s not one I get often.”

Iorveth hummed, continuing to slowly drag rough fingertips across his skin. A thumb traced an old scar from a knife fight in his youth, a finger curled his chest hair around itself, another scraped against him with the lightest hint of nail.

Fuck, Iorveth was going to drive him crazy. 

“You have a strength to you,” Iorveth murmured, “a solidness.” Iorveth huffed a laugh, “no one could ignore you if they wanted to.”

Roche grinned, “made _you_ pay attention.”

Iorveth leaned down to apply his mouth to the scars over Roche’s left ribs, the shrapnel pattern rough and distinct. Iorveth kissed each spot, then spoke against his skin, “you never had to try to get my attention.”

Roche shivered and Iorveth continued his exploration, kissing a puncture scar in the meat of his shoulder. Roche wondered if Iorveth had guessed that it was an arrow wound, one the Scoia’tael had given him. 

He sighed. It was so hard to escape the reality of who they were, even as he wanted to be wholly Vernon with Iorveth. 

But a mere week ago, Vernon and Iorveth had been enemies, and the evidence of that surrounded them. Did they really have a chance, in the face of that?

Iorveth traced his fingers up a scar on Roche’s upper left arm, even as his mouth moved back down to outline the tattoo over his pec – his Blue Stripes tattoo. 

Roche licked his lips, “does it bother you?” he asked softly, feeling as if a loud noise would disturb the little bubble they existed in.

“Mm?”

“The – my – I dunno, all of it. You’re not exactly a fan of Temeria.”

Iorveth hummed in consideration, continuing to trace down Roche’s ribs. “Temeria as it was, no, certainly not. And the feeling was mutual. But,” Iorveth glanced up to meet his eyes for a brief second, “the Temeria you think Anais and Boussy can build? I–” Iorveth licked his lips, looking away again. “Did I ever tell you,” he said instead, and Roche wondered what he’d decided not to say.

“Tell me what?”

“The land you call Temeria,” Iorveth murmured, “I was born there. Long before it became Temeria, of course, but…”

Roche swallowed, “but there’s something about home.”

Iorveth looked momentarily surprised, then he smiled softly. “Yeah, suppose there is.”

“What was it called?” Roche asked and Iorveth looked up to meet his eyes again. 

“Dùthaich,” Iorveth said quietly.

“Dù – Dùth – Dùthaich,” Roche attempted to shape the foreign word. It was probably painful to listen to, but Iorveth just smiled. 

“It means homeland in Common.” Iorveth bit his lip, looking at Roche carefully. Then he took a deep breath and asked, “why did you follow Foltest?”

Roche blinked. He definitely should’ve anticipated this conversation happening, but somehow, he’d never prepared for it. “I – uh… not really sure what kind of answer you’re looking for. He’s – he _was_ my King. My friend.”

Iorveth hummed, gaze fixed on Roche’s chest. “What made you follow him originally?”

“Oh,” Roche bit his lip to think, because putting his words together while Iorveth continued to trace over his tattoo was actually rather difficult. “Well, he saved me. Or, technically, I saved him and his sister. On accident.”

Iorveth’s face scrunched in confusion. “What?”

He huffed an amused breath, “that’s how it started. There was a parade in Vizima, the royal family coming out to see the common folk. They even came to the slums – it was a big deal! This was under King Medell still, and then-Prince Foltest and Princess Adda were targeted. But I – well, it was an accident, honestly. But it saved them. Next thing I knew, Brigida and I were being dragged to the palace and suddenly working in service to the royal family.”

Iorveth frowned. “Brigida?”

“Oh, yeah, she was my date for the parade. Anyway, she ended up serving as one of Adders’ – ah, Princess Adda, that is – one of her ladies in waiting. And I became – well, whatever Foltest needed, really. Which, at the time – I was about 15, if I remember right – was mostly just, well, being someone close to their age they could be friends with, the both of them.”

“And you’ve followed him since?”

“Of course. For a kid from the slums, Foltest was literally life changing. It’s – didn’t you ever follow someone because they gave you a better life?”

Iorveth shrugged, not meeting his eyes. “I was never much good at following people. Always wanted to be the best.”

“You follow Saskia,” he pointed out.

“Well, yeah, who wouldn’t?”

Roche raised a pointed eyebrow and Iorveth sighed, still avoiding his gaze.

“Saskia… from the moment I met her, I knew I would follow her. Never met anyone like that before. But she’s – I mean, she and Foltest can hardly compare,” and there was venom in Iorveth’s voice that Roche tried very hard not to take offense to.

“To you,” he said shortly before sighing. “Look, I know Foltest wasn’t perfect, I do. But he was – everything Saskia is to you, Foltest was to me. He gave me the chance to serve Temeria the only way I could.”

“As his attack dog?” Iorveth closed his eyes, regret on his face indicating he hadn’t meant to bring it up. But he still did, so Roche had to respond.

“You’re the leader of an army, Iorveth. Of course you’d serve Saskia differently. But someone like me? How else would I be able to serve? Foltest put me through basic training, he put me through officer’s training, he gave me the skills I needed. What would you prefer? That I’d said no? Too late for that now.”

Iorveth’s frown was deep. “You’re not Saskia’s attack dog.”

“No? Just wait,” Roche snorted. “I know what I’m good for, Iorveth. It’s not glamorous, but it’s necessary. C’mon, you know this – ideals are all well and good, but when it comes to the reality, someone’s gotta get their hands dirty.”

“Saskia won’t ask that,” Iorveth said confidently and it made something ache in Roche’s chest. 

“Okay, fine, whatever.” He didn’t have the energy to fight that point. “Foltest did, and I did what was needed. Are you asking if I regret it? Because I don’t.”

Iorveth hummed, fingers skipping down to trace the tattoo on his hip, the one of the crowned skull that he’d gotten for Adders after she’d died. “No,” Iorveth said consideringly, “you don’t regret the things you’ve done for Temeria. Like I don’t regret what I’ve done for the Scoia’tael.”

That had Roche’s shoulders loosening, relaxing back against the grass. “Exactly.”

Iorveth’s fingers tapped against his skin idly, and they were both silent for a long moment. Then, finally, Iorveth asked hesitantly, “you followed Foltest. But you still interpreted his orders differently. Why?”

Roche blinked. “How do you know that?”

“Pillow Tits and I chatted a while back,” Iorveth shrugged.

Huh. Well, it’s not like Roche had a problem with PT telling Iorveth, but that he did it at all was interesting. 

“It’s – I dunno if I have an answer for you. It’s more…” Roche bit his lip, thinking. “Triss framed it as the difference in knowing and experiencing. Foltest _knew_ what was best for Temeria and worked to make it happen. But he’s – he was the King. There were some things he was never gonna experience that – well, that mattered. Uh, I guess it’s like what Saskia’s been talking about with implementation. Something can be well intentioned, but sometimes the execution leaves a lot to be desired. But that’s what advisors are _for_ – to point out your blindspots and make it work around them.”

Iorveth swallowed, then nodded. “You love him.”

“Well, yeah, he’s my King,” Roche shrugged. “Why?”

Iorveth shook his head, “no, nevermind.” His fingers slid along a mostly healed gash low on Roche’s stomach that had needed two dozen stitches and made PT swear loudly as he worked. The drag of Iorveth’s fingertips against the upraised skin had Roche biting back a shudder.

Then Iorveth rolled away onto his feet, offering a hand to help Roche up. All without ever looking directly at him. Roche clasped Iorveth’s hand, worry tugging at his heart. Was Foltest always going to be a barrier between them? The King Roche served, the King Iorveth had helped kill. The King who had killed so many of Iorveth’s people.

“Iorveth–” Roche started to say.

“We should head back to the cabin before we lose the light,” Iorveth cut him off, turning to gather his clothes. 

Roche frowned at Iorveth, gathering his own clothes. Why did he feel like he’d just failed some sort of test he hadn’t known he was taking?

After failing to come up with anything better to say, he settled on, “are you okay?” 

Iorveth turned to him and smiled, “of course.”

Roche smiled back and pretended he couldn’t see something sad and broken in that smile.

* * *

That conversation set the mood for the evening and they walked back to the cabin in silence, lit candles without ever talking, and ate leftover stew without a word.

Roche frowned deeply down at his food. The combination of human preparation and elven spices made for a decent stew, but the taste was far from his mind. Was it stupid to think they could work together? Could even be _great_ together?

He wanted – he wanted so much to break the silence by asking after Iorveth’s music or Iorveth’s past or… well, really anything Iorveth was willing to share. But every time he opened his mouth, he remembered that broken look in Iorveth’s eye and his jaw snapped closed again. 

After dinner, Iorveth pulled some knitting out of his bag, and Roche stepped outside to surreptitiously continue carving. _Peeling,_ it should really be called, as tedious as it was. But instead of the giddy anticipation that had bubbled in his stomach earlier when working on the carving, now he just felt dread. What if… what if, despite his attempts and intentions, Iorveth decided that Roche’s past and who he was was just… not good enough. Not worth being forgiven. Not worth loving.

Gritting his teeth to hold back the sudden wetness in his eyes, Roche shook his head and stowed the in progress carving back in the flower pot next to the door. Then he stood and stretched and convinced himself he was tired.

Iorveth looked up when he stepped inside and their gazes almost met – but both of them faltered, and Roche couldn’t see that broken look in Iorveth’s eye again, not when he was pretty sure _he_ had put it there.

“I’m going to bed,” he said quietly, the first words to cut through the silence since their swim.

Iorveth nodded and set his knitting aside, following Roche behind the divider to the large bed. Normally, Roche would strip down and change, or at least remove his tunic, but his self-consciousness was back in full force with Iorveth across the bed from him, so instead, he just pulled the covers back and faceplanted into the pillows.

Iorveth gave an amused huff, but still didn’t say anything, and when Roche turned his head to lie on his cheek facing Iorveth, the elf was sprawled out on his back, a frown on his face. Roche ached to reach out, to smooth away the lines on Iorveth’s face with his thumb, to pull Iorveth close and pretend that Iorveth’s jagged angles fit with his soft bulk.

Instead, he slid his arm under the pillow and closed his eyes, willing sleep to come quickly.

It didn’t, of course. Not really, at least – he thought he might’ve dozed here and there, but every so often he was aware of being awake and bored and longing.

During one such time, his eyes fluttered open when Iorveth let out a frustrated huff and threw back the covers, stepping out of bed. There wasn’t enough light for Roche to see where Iorveth went, and his body felt too heavy to raise his head and follow the hint of movement as soundless footsteps moved away from the bed. He listened intently, and a few moments later, the front door opened with a small squeak, and thumped closed.

Roche bit his lip and hated that now, without the tension hovering over the room, sleep beckoned to him immediately. As his eyes fluttered closed, he reached out and rested a hand in the center of the still-warm spot Iorveth had occupied. 

His sleep was troubled, dreams plagued by the feeling of chasing something that he could never quite reach. He made a soft sound, his body twitching restlessly, and it was only when something warm and gentle settled around him, and the faint scent of juniper cut him free of the chase and held him close, that he was finally able to fall into a deep, restful sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got the next chapter written, so I shall be posting it tomorrow!
> 
> Check out Iorveth's POV in [Between Two Fools](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26788936/chapters/66051613).  
> The song Roche sings is "I've Got You Under My Skin". My personal favorite version is [Carly Simon's.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4DwmkODXTNg)


	24. Arc 3: Vacation Day 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roche hadn't been sure what to expect in the morning, but waking up with Iorveth sleeping on top of him had not been it.

When Roche woke up, it was to the comforting feeling of weight spread out atop him and arms tight around him. Considering the way he remembered falling asleep, this was  _ not _ how he had expected to wake up, but as surprises went, this one was more pleasant than most. 

He could  _ feel _ Iorveth on top of him, wrapped around him with arms and legs, but Roche had the sudden urge to make sure, to verify that it was truly Iorveth, that he wasn’t just dreaming.

Wiggling around without waking Iorveth was  _ not _ an easy task, but eventually, he settled on his back with Iorveth tucked against his chest. At some point in the night, Iorveth had apparently changed, because he was wearing that same elven robe that Roche had been hoping would make a reappearance. It was soft and silky under Roche’s fingers as he stroked across Iorveth’s back and then buried his hand in Iorveth’s hair. The elf sighed in his sleep, nuzzling into Roche’s chest and Roche felt something happy and bright fill him.

He had a chance. He  _ must _ have a chance. He just needed to show Iorveth that they could do this, could  _ be  _ something, even though neither of them were really built for having nice things.

Roche sighed, just enjoying the feel of Iorveth against him. He closed his eyes and started humming, random snippets of tunes that came to mind. 

When Iorveth’s breathing changed, he felt a split second of fear – that Iorveth had only reached out to him in his sleep, that it hadn’t been intended at all.

But then Iorveth just sighed, relaxing even further into him.

Roche swallowed, biting his lips against his grin. He really did have a chance. 

“Good morning,” he murmured, playing with Iorveth’s hair. 

When Iorveth didn’t respond, he assumed the elf was still half-asleep – so he was surprised when Iorveth rose up onto his elbows, a frown on his face.

Roche pulled his hand back as Iorveth moved, wondering if he’d gone too far. But from the way Iorveth had relaxed into him, the elf  _ wanted  _ the touch. Maybe he was still just struggling with accepting it?

Roche licked his lips and cupped Iorveth’s cheek. “You okay?” he asked softly. Iorveth nodded slowly and he smiled, curling up to press their foreheads together for a quick moment. But the grumbling in his stomach beckoned, so he made himself get up. “I’ll go make breakfast, then.”

Happiness and anxiety squirmed against each other in his stomach, but he made a deliberate choice to lean into the happiness – to  _ let _ himself take risks with Iorveth and just enjoy the warm and soft ball of emotion that sprouted in his chest and burst out of his lips in snatches of song.

His plan for breakfast was just a simple hash – potatoes, eggs, onions, goat cheese, and mushrooms, served with sliced strawberries on the side for a hint of sweetness – but among the Stripes, he was famous for it, and not just because it was a great breakfast to treat a hangover with. It was one of his best dishes, and it was only right to give Iorveth his best.

There were flowers growing in the window box above the kitchen counter, pretty little red and orange and yellow blooms and, in a fit of ridiculousness, Roche plucked a few and stuck them in a makeshift vase, to decorate the table.

Iorveth gave the flowers an odd look, but he dug into the hash with an eagerness that made pride build in Roche’s chest. If he did this right, maybe he could even feed Iorveth enough to get some meat on those bones.

After breakfast, Roche thought about what they could potentially do with their day. “Do you play gwent?”

Iorveth cocked an eyebrow, “I do.”

“Fancy a game?”

Iorveth grinned and pulled out his deck.

They spent a good portion of the day like that, just playing and chatting casually. Eventually, they had the brilliant idea to drag the table outside and continued to play, now with a bonus view.

At some point, Iorveth lit his pipe, and they passed it back and forth until Roche couldn’t keep gwent’s rules straight anymore.

“Dice poker?” he offered.

Iorveth laughed, “want to lose to me some more?”

“Excuse you, we are tied 6 and 6.”

“Well then we definitely need a tiebreaker.”

Roche shook his head, laughing, “I can’t even keep track of my points at this point.”

“All the better for me.” The corner of Iorveth’s mouth pulled upwards in a smile and Roche felt victoriousness amongst the general haziness that was his head at the moment.

“Man, your shit is waaaay better than ours,” he complained, making grabby hands at the pipe in Iorveth’s hand.

Now Iorveth laughed for real and Roche grinned at him dopily. Iorveth took a drag and breathed out slowly, “elves are connected to nature.”

“Oh, yeah, you can like… shape it?” The pipe was finally passed to Roche and he partook eagerly. 

“That too,” Iorveth said. “Instruments are made that way. But also just – those who are good at it can tap that natural affinity and like… I dunno, make shit better. Imadia’s good at that.”

Roche nodded knowledgeably. “Pillow Tits is our green thumb. I admit, I don’t know shit about plants. Sorry.”

Iorveth took the pipe from his limp hand and inhaled. When he spoke, smoke curled through the air with each word. “I’ve forgotten a lot,” he admitted.

“As long as you’ve lived, no wonder.” Roche still couldn’t wrap his head around it. More than a century of life was just  _ too long.  _ “Tell me about it?”

Iorveth tilted his head. “About what?”

“I dunno. You. Your life. Your music – I want to hear it again.” The herbs made it so easy to admit somehow. “That song –  _ Stella Splendens.  _ Can you play that?”

Iorveth blinked at him in surprise. “I – um, yeah, sure.”

Roche beamed at him and Iorveth looked rather nonplussed, but he got up to get his flute. 

Roche stretched his arms and looked out at the view around them. Vergen truly was beautiful. Vizima, as much as it was  _ home,  _ just did not have the views. Here, looking out on the valley between Vergen and the Makahaman Mountains, watching the Pontar wind its way across it… well, he really could kind of understand what elves saw in nature. 

Speaking of – he twisted around and nearly fell out of his seat trying to check the door. So of course it opened at that moment, Iorveth stepping back outside with his flute in hand. 

Roche was 100% successful in turning his stumble into something intentional as he sat back down. Absolutely.

Iorveth walked by him with a snort and without really thinking about it, he reached out and wrapped his arms around Iorveth’s waist, pulling the elf into him. Iorveth yelped, flailing his arms and Roche helpfully tugged Iorveth into his lap.

Iorveth twisted to blink down at him in surprise, then huffed a laugh. “You’re reeeeaally high right now, aren’t you?”

Roche hummed, nuzzling into Iorveth’s back. “Play,” he murmured.

Iorveth chuckled, “sure.”

Then Iorveth lifted the flute to his mouth and music emerged. Roche closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against Iorveth’s shoulder, letting the herbs and the music take his mind wherever it wanted to go.

* * *

By the time Roche was starting to come down again, Iorveth had fully relaxed into his perch on Roche’s lap. When Iorveth got bored with playing, he set his flute aside and picked up Roche’s hands instead, examining and toying with them. Roche let him, more than content to keep resting with Iorveth’s weight on top of him. 

“Can you tell me about it?” he asked quietly.

“Mm?”

“Your music. You said your family are all mad scientists. How’d you find music?”

“Oh,” Iorveth said. “Um, actually. It was for a boy. Vrisan, I think his name was. He actually turned out to be a terrible musician, but I tried it out because of him.” He snorted, remembering. “I credited him in an awards speech once. Wow, I was a little asshole.”

Roche laughed. “Was?”

Iorveth elbowed him and Roche just laughed harder. 

“So what else? You found music because of this guy. But obviously you fell in love with it yourself.”

“My first instrument was a crumhorn. Purely for the irritation factor, honestly.”

Roche snorted, imagining that. That was exactly the kind of pettiness that appealed to him about Iorveth, honestly. “Oh?”

Iorveth grinned, “you’ve heard them? Squeaky fucking horns, an obnoxious sound, honestly. I was young enough I  _ delighted  _ in that, of course.”

Roche couldn’t help his open laughter at that. It was difficult to picture a young Iorveth, not when the one he currently knew was so larger than life – but the idea of Iorveth being an absolute little shit? Downright incredible, and he said so.

Iorveth’s neck flushed lightly, but the elf nodded. “I really was. But, turned out I really liked it. Well, not the crumhorns, those are still annoying, but just – music...”

Iorveth’s voice held a note of awe that made Roche breathless. 

“You studied music officially then? What did that mean? Attending something like Oxenfurt?”

Iorveth nodded, “a  _ lot _ bigger than Oxenfurt, but yeah. The academies were some of the grandest structures in all of Dùthaich. That’s where I met Imadia, actually. She was my – uh, not wholly sure what you’d call it in common. Thesis advisor?”

What the fuck was a thesis? “Some sort of mentor-type figure, I assume?”

“Yeah, more or less. But also an academic, so their lectures are extra intense.” 

_ More _ intense, huh? Roche wondered if anyone had ever actually managed to cow Iorveth with a lecture. It seemed somehow impossible.

“At the time, Imadia was studying how sound vibrations affect the body, particularly in regards to healing. We worked together pretty well – and have since, really.”

Roche blinked. He had kind of always assumed that most of the Scoia’tael were young, idealistic elves. 

He tucked his chin over Iorveth’s shoulder and asked, “have you known any of the other Scoia’tael so long? I mean, I’m assuming this was mostly before humans came?”

“Mm. I was young when the Conjunction of the Spheres occurred. Only a hundred or so. I still played after that, but things definitely changed.” 

Mostly not for the better, for elves, at least. Roche bit his lip and just held Iorveth closer.

“Music was still valued, by humans and elves alike. We didn’t – there wasn’t a lot of mixing, as you can imagine, but I played in human venues for human audiences sometimes. Most often, though, I held concerts in my music hall,” Iorveth said, and again, his voice was full of a kind of fond awe. Roche decided he liked the sound of it.

“That’s right,” he remembered, “Imadia said you had one before.” His brow wrinkled. Hadn’t Iorveth also said that the hall had been converted into a prison? Shit.

“In what’s now Vizima,” Iorveth nodded, then seemed to wilt slightly in Roche’s arms. “It’s a shame, the acoustics were truly incredible. I spent a year working out the mathematics to design a hall that would do what I wanted it to. Hosted all the famous musicians amongst the Aen Seidhe – even played beside most of them.”

A year on math alone? Sounded like hell to Roche, but Iorveth spoke with so much  _ yearning  _ that Roche had to lean his head against Iorveth’s, showing support the only way he could.

It was a weird idea, an Iorveth totally different from the one he knew now, standing before screaming fans and accepting accolades. It didn’t quite compute – the elf who’d spent the past several decades living as an outlaw in forests, standing on stage and lapping up praise? 

Roche shook his head slightly. “I’m trying to picture it, you in front of a massive audience, enjoying the spotlight.”

“It was a long time ago,” Iorveth said softly. 

So long it was hard to comprehend, in fact. How much hurt had Iorveth experienced in all those unfathomable years?

Roche turned his face into Iorveth’s neck, pressing a kiss against wherever he could reach. Was it selfish, to hope that he might be able to provide Iorveth with an interlude from all the pain? Or arrogant, to assume that he even could?

He closed his eyes and breathed in Iorveth’s faint juniper scent. “Hope you had a better fashion sense back then,” he teased.

Iorveth scoffed in offense. “I have a fashion sense!”

“Wouldn’t know it from your armor.” All ransacked parts cobbled together with whatever spik and span the Scoia’tael could manage. And yet, admittedly, Iorveth made it work.

Iorveth adopted a condescending air. “It’s called making do and making it look good anyway, thank you very much.” 

Then Iorveth broke down into the most adorable giggles Roche had ever heard, and he could honestly  _ feel  _ the way his heart expanded in his chest.

“I did actually, though,” Iorveth said through his giggles, “was kind of known for it. Or, well, for um… being loud with it, I guess?”

Roche blinked, the dots connecting slowly in his mind. Known for a loud fashion sense? All that came to mind was Dandelion’s ridiculous outfits and – “Oh my gods,” he realized, feeling giddy with sheer glee at the revelation, “You were a flamboyant dandy!”

“Was not!”

“No, no, no, you _totally were,_ oh my gods, this is amazing,” he couldn’t stop cackling – the idea of _Iorveth_ of all people wearing one of Dandelion’s more garish looks?

He tried to bite back his laughter, to get it under control, but every time he came anywhere close, his mind conjured another silly outfit to paste Iorveth’s head on and he broke down all over again.

At some point, Iorveth had started laughing too, and the sound of their combined joy made something warm spread through his limbs.

“Okay, possibly slightly,” Iorveth admitted. “I would – ha, I used to wear the most elaborate braids and robes for performances.”

Roche tried to picture that – Iorveth in robes maybe similar to the ones he wore now, but even nicer. And with hair long enough to braid? Roche licked his lips and wondered if Iorveth would consider growing his hair out again. Would he ever let Roche braid it?

Roche brushed his palms against the soft fabric of Iorveth’s robes and marveled at how it could possibly be so smooth. It was unlike any human fabric he’d ever touched – and, serving the King, he’d seen a number of the fancier, and stranger, options out there.

“I like the robes,” he said softly, “you look good in ‘em.” And Iorveth truly did, something about the garment bringing out the elegance in the lines of Iorveth’s body.

Plus, the neckline was really low and it showed off Iorveth’s tattoo and Roche  _ loved _ it.

“Oh,” Iorveth blushed, his ear growing warm against Roche’s cheek. “I – thank you.”

Roche hummed with another chuckle and their conversation petered to an end naturally. He was content just to hold Iorveth and let his brain slowly come back online, but it didn’t take long to realize that Iorveth was clearly chewing on a question.

He tapped his nose against Iorveth’s cheek in a strange sort of nudge. “Oren for your thoughts?”

“Not sure they’re worth that,” Iorveth said quietly. “I – you’ve mentioned your mom a few times, with the kids. And I know – I mean,” the words trailed off and Roche was pretty sure he knew what Iorveth was trying to get at.

Did he want to talk about this? Roche bit his lip, thinking. On the one hand, this was  _ Iorveth.  _ The odds that he  _ didn’t _ know about Roche’s mom – and Roche’s issues with anyone saying whoreson – were incredibly slim. And Roche had gotten to ask Iorveth all kinds of questions. It was only fair to answer some in return.

“She runs a brothel,” Roche said carefully. “Same one she worked in when I was growing up, actually. The Clarabelle. It’s actually pretty nice – Eliza, my mom, she puts a lot of emphasis on consent. Actually,” he chuckled softly, “Mom and the workers are still some of my best informants.”

Iorveth perked up. “I know what you mean. Madams and innkeepers – best informants ever.”

“Right!? Actually, I’ve been thinking about how to use that. I dunno, maybe it’s a ridiculous idea.”

“To judge, I’d need to actually hear the idea first.”

Roche stuck his tongue out – and then realized that Iorveth probably couldn’t see it so he licked whatever was in reach. Iorveth made a small noise, scrunching his face.

“The idea?”

“Oh, right,” Roche sighed, grasping for order amongst his thoughts. “So like, what if we had a network of informants all over Temeria for Anais and Boussy? Like I mean, obviously we’re already working on that, because we  _ need _ intel, but more intentionally. Any city that’ll have a significant Nilfgaardian presence should have a brothel, or at least an inn.”

“So what, a sideline in the prostitution business?” Iorveth asked, “‘get off in the name of the Lilies’?”

Roche snorted loudly. “Gods, that’s terrible. But yeah, kinda. If we could make those kinda contacts? Would be ideal.”

Iorveth hummed. “Well, if you do,” he said slowly, “there may be a few introductions I could make.”

Roche clicked his tongue. “I  _ knew _ that brothel in Ellander had a spy! Knew it!” Ellander was the closest Temerian city to the Scoia’tael’s territory – not counting Flotsam, of course – and home to both the Temple of Melitele and Temeria’s third largest army base. He’d known Iorveth would have to have spies in the city, but he’d never managed to prove it.

“More than one,” Iorveth shrugged. 

Roche huffed. “Never could find the evidence, but I  _ knew  _ it!” It was oddly justifying, even though it meant nothing now. “But yeah, I mean, assuming your informants don’t, you know, hate Temeria.”

Iorveth dragged out a long hum, then finally said, “the Temeria the children will build. That Temeria, they might be down with.”

Roche swallowed. That was – Iorveth said it casually, but by offering his informants, by working with Roche on this, he was essentially saying that  _ he _ believed in the Temeria that could be. From the elf who had helped the Kingslayer get Foltest? That was  _ huge.  _

Roche licked his lips. “That works.”

“So what’s she like, your mother?”

He blew out a breath of air. “She is – a lot,” he laughed. “She didn’t choose it, initially. The job. But she had to feed me somehow, so…” he shrugged. “It’s different now, though, running the place. But gods, her sense of humor is  _ exactly _ what you’d expect from a madam.”

“Lots of dick jokes?”

“Dick  _ everything.  _ Including an entire tea set. She’s got every kind of decorative dick there can be – from boring to bawdy to somehow fucking elegant, it’s ridiculous.”

Iorveth laughed, “I dunno, that sounds amazing. My mother just decorated the house with ‘hazardous materials’ signs. Literally, everywhere. First words I learned.”

“You’re kidding.”

Iorveth shook his head, his hair tickling across Roche’s cheek. “She was a biochemist who worked with mages on some sort of experiments. Presumably, they produced lots of hazardous materials.”

“Well, that’s not alarming,” Roche grinned. 

Iorveth knocked their heads lightly together. “Are you close, you and your mother?”

He shrugged, “close enough, I guess. She’s kinda like a colleague who knows all my most embarrassing stories and will stop in the middle of everything to tell me to go eat a food.”

Iorveth chuckled, “sounds interesting.”

“It’s probably best that we’re in different cities now, actually. Though – oh fuck, I should probably tell her I kinda adopted the royal children.”

“Probably,” Iorveth agreed, voice warm with amusement. “I’m amazed how good you are with kids.”

“Oh, well,” Roche flushed and cleared his throat. “Shorty’s got a lot of munchkins and if we’re all in Vizima for more than a day or two, he ropes us into babysitting. Well,  _ some _ of us.”

_ Others  _ of the Stripes couldn’t even be left unsupervised to take care of  _ themselves,  _ much less two actual children. 

“What about the girl, the one you used to visit in Ellander?”

Roche blinked. “Damn, your spies are good. Almost no one knew about the visits to the Temple of Melitele.”

“Rinn,” Iorveth said as if that explained everything. And honestly, it kind of did. “Pretty sure she has a crush on your girl.”

“Huh,” Roche blinked and shook his head. “You know who she is?”

Because state secrets were still state secrets, even if it hardly mattered now.

“Who she is officially?” Iorveth asked. “Queen Adda the White of Redania. Supposedly Foltest’s niece. 

“Ugh, ‘of Redania’. Adda is  _ definitely _ still Temerian, lemme tell you. But yeah – I mean, I wouldn’t claim to have raised her or anything. The Sisters of Melitele definitely did all the hard work. But Triss and I were the ones sent to check on her at the temple. You know why she was there?”

Iorveth shook his head.

“Geralt actually saved her,” Roche said, “she was cursed into a striga. Spent the first eight years of her life as a monster. Literally – she was cursed before she was born and no one knew about her, not until–”

“Until people started dying?”

Roche hummed in agreement. “Geralt broke the curse, cured her. But then we were left with Adders’ daughter who had literally never experienced a kind human touch. Or, well…  _ any _ human touch really. The Temple of Melitele – the priestesses there taught Adda how to be a person. I looked in on her regularly, especially in the early days, but they’re the ones who did all the heavy lifting.”

Iorveth nodded, “Rinn’s the closest I’ve come to raising a child, and she was already 37 when she adopted me.”

“Adopted  _ you?  _ Shouldn’t it be the other way around?”

With a huff of laughter, Iorveth explained, “not with Rinn. The Scoia’tael’s no place for a child.”

“Uh–”

“The elven age of majority is 40. Usually, when we would get younger elves or dwarves, we’d send them here, to Vergen. To actually grow up. And I sent Rinn.  _ Several _ times, as a matter of fact. I still don’t know how she managed to keep reappearing in my fucking office, but she did.”

Roche snorted. ‘Office’, that was cute. He pictured a little desk balanced over a tree branch and snickered. “So you ended up raising her?”

“More or less, yeah. Well, the Scoia’tael as a whole did.”

“Made for a interesting upbringing, I’d bet.” 

“She’s certainly unique,” Iorveth smiled fondly.

“You said you taught her the finger language she uses. What did she use before?”

“She didn’t,” Iorveth grimaced. “Her parents were killed in front of her – and then  _ I  _ killed  _ them _ . Didn’t know until later that someone was still alive. Not sure if she was mute before that, but she definitely was for a long while after.”

Roche nodded, “right, you said before that she didn’t usually talk in front of other people?”

“Yeah. She likes fucking with people, though, so it’s entirely possible that she’s just waiting for the right moment for a dramatic reveal, honestly.”

“Oh, wonder where she learned that from.” He poked Iorveth to make his point and Iorveth just scoffed. “Wait, hold on – you said you think Rinn has a crush on  _ Adda!? My  _ Adda!?”

Iorveth nodded. “If the Kingslayer had been around when she married Radovid, Rinn definitely would’ve murdered him.”

“How does Rinn even know her? Like yeah, okay, spying on me I get, but like…”

“I think they’re penpals?” Iorveth shrugged, “something like that anyway.”

“Huh. You know, I’ve been thinking I wanna introduce the kids to her. I was worried about communication with Radovid right there and all, but if a  _ Scoia’tael spy _ is regularly exchanging letters with her, then I’m guessing she knows how to hide it.”

“Their brother, too,” Iorveth said nonsensically.

“What?”

“You should have them write to their brother, too. Boussy talked about him like they were close.”

“Oh. Yeah, that’s a good idea. Their mom too, probably, if they aren’t together. Most likely she assumes Anais and Boussy are dead.” Roche grimaced. Probably these were all things he should’ve done earlier, but they’d truly only been in Vergen a handful of days. It could wait a few more.

...except for Louisa LaValette’s letter. And probably the one to Eliza about her surprise grandkids.

“Ugh, I should probably write some letters,” he groaned. 

Iorveth hummed. “You know you don’t have to stay up here if you’ve – you know, gotta do stuff in the mountain.”

Roche sighed, his breath fluttering Iorveth’s hair. “I’ve got parchment and ink. Maybe I’ll just bug Triss to pop by and pick them up when I’m done.”

“You do know it’s very stupid to piss off a sorceress, right?”

“Eh, if Triss was gonna kill me, she’d’ve done it a long time ago. But I have showed up to her room in the middle of the night a lot lately, so you might have a point.” He cleared his throat, trying not to think about the  _ last _ time he’d barged in on Triss in the night. He was definitely blushing.

Iorveth raised his eyebrow, “I was under the impression that the mage was exclusively with Geralt.”

Roche blinked. Where had that come from? “Uh, yeah, I think?” Iorveth had gone tense on top of him and he frowned. “Why?”

“I would think,” Iorveth said slowly, “that Geralt would not appreciate midnight visits.”

Roche shrugged, “I mean, he – well, he wasn’t exactly delighted last time, but uh, that’s ‘cause – uh,” he stuttered to a stop. Was there a delicate way to say ‘because I accidentally walked in on them in the middle of sex and didn’t fucking notice’?

Probably not.

Iorveth frowned, “what?”

“Well, they were – you know,” Roche fumbled for words,  _ “busy.” _

Iorveth twisted around to stare at him in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

He groaned, burying his flaming red face in his hands. “I accidentally walked in on them. Though really, Triss could’ve  _ said.” _

“Why else would you visit someone’s room at night?”

Roche blinked. “Wait, what?” His face scrunched in confusion and he blinked at Iorveth a few more times. “What are we talking about?” 

He ran back through the conversation in his head and this time he  _ thought _ about why Iorveth had tensed up. Right after he’d mentioned that he barged in on Triss – ah.

“Oh! No! I – not – to  _ talk! _ Not – uh, yeah,” Roche stuttered out an explanation, face blushing even brighter. Oh gods, and Iorveth had thought – with Geralt  _ and _ – 

Rational thought fizzled out for several moments and it was only when Iorveth started shaking above him that his brain started to come back online. Iorveth was making little squeaking sounds that sounded like–

Roche opened his eyes to see Iorveth looking down at him with a hand pressed to his mouth as the elf tried to suppress his fucking  _ giggles. _

“Sorry,” Iorveth managed, “I didn’t know it was possible to turn that red.” 

“Just to be clear,” Roche felt the need to say, “I was  _ not _ implying a threesome with Triss and Geralt. That – you’re the only – I mean,” he cleared his throat, face still hot. “Triss and I are drink and dish friends.”

“You’re  _ what?” _

“You know – someone you get drunk with and gossip with and just, I dunno, get real with?” Iorveth continued to stare at him and he let go of Iorveth’s waist to scratch at the back of his neck. “It’s – we were both outsiders to the Temerian court, Triss and I. Everyone knew we were only there – only had any real power – because Foltest favored us. Which meant pretty much everyone  _ else _ hated us. So we teamed up to get drunk and be petty. It was fun.”

Iorveth chuckled, “drink and dish, huh?”

Roche shrugged, still flushed from the misunderstanding. As  _ if _ Geralt and Triss would go for him anyway. 

But wait, if Iorveth thought  _ he _ was sleeping with other people… did that mean  _ Iorveth _ was?

Except no, anyone who had somehow found the time for another orgasm wouldn’t be as tense as Iorveth pretty much perpetually was. And when would he have had the time besides? This vacation was the first bit of down time  _ either _ of them had really had of recent.

Still, they probably  _ should _ talk about it, shouldn’t they? If – if there was any chance that Iorveth might accept his courting, then they would need to know where they stood on these things… right?

He cleared his throat. “I, ah – we haven’t really talked about that before. But, um, for the record, you’re the only one I’ve been with since all this started.” He smiled softly with a puff of amusement, “you’ve always demanded my full attention, you know,” he brushed a few locks of hair back from Iorveth’s face, “I’ve never regretted giving you all my focus.”

Iorveth’s breath hitched and his dark gaze was intense. Again, every sense Roche had strained towards Iorveth, fully absorbed in his once-foe.

His hand dropped down to Iorveth’s leg, and the way Iorveth was sitting – half-twisted in Roche’s lap so they could face each other – could not possibly have been comfortable. Iorveth didn’t object to his hand, so Roche tugged slightly on Iorveth’s thigh, encouraging movement.

“C’mon,” he murmured, “you’re gonna get a cramp twisted like that.”

Honestly, he wasn’t sure exactly what he’d had in mind – Iorveth sitting sideways across his lap, maybe? – but whatever he’d considered didn’t matter, because Iorveth rose at his words and before he had a chance to mourn the loss of Iorveth’s weight, Iorveth turned around and straddled him, settling into his lap again as if he were Iorveth’s favorite armchair. He bit his lip against the thrill of warmth that sent racing through his blood.

Casually thinking that he’d be delighted to be Iorveth’s favorite chair any time was probably a little strange, but Roche couldn’t be bothered to worry about it. Not when arms wrapped around his shoulders, and Iorveth had  _ always _ been taller than him, but like this, boosted just that bit extra from Roche’s legs, he was forced to tilt his head back to meet Iorveth’s gaze again. He swallowed and found it suddenly difficult to think about anything that wasn’t Iorveth’s green eye intent on him.

“Um,” he wrapped his arms back around Iorveth’s waist – and funny, how they felt like they belonged there – and blurted out, “what were we talking about?”

Iorveth’s lips curved upward in a smirk and Iorveth hadn’t bothered with his bandana since their swim yesterday and there was something about that – the open comfort with  _ letting Roche see,  _ the trust that this wouldn’t be used against him, the way Iorveth’s smirk was truly unique, the scar tissue limiting movement and twisting the corner of his mouth just so – Roche had to reach up and touch, feeling breathless and exhilarated and so very, very in love.

Iorveth’s eye fluttered closed at the touch of his hand, but Iorveth’s own hand came up to grasp his and drag it away. Iorveth entwined their fingers as he did, but Roche still cursed himself for coming on too strong.

He cleared his throat and finally jerked his gaze away from Iorveth’s. “Um – right. I wanted to say, uh–” 

“About other partners?” Iorveth supplied.

“Oh, yeah, um,” Roche licked his lips, trying to find the right words to explain something that was kind of…  _ complicated.  _ “The Stripes. I – um–”

Iorveth abruptly pulled away, scrambling off his lap. “With your  _ men!?  _ You’re their commander!”

“Not like that!” Roche raised his hands beside him defensively, “I would never! That’s not – it’s not like that!”

Iorveth looked down at him with a coldly judging look, “so how  _ is _ it like?”

“It’s – it’s mostly not even about sex! It – when they need out of their heads, sometimes, they come to me. It’s not – anything sexual is casual. It doesn’t  _ mean _ anything.”

Iorveth scoffed, “how fortunate for you to be able to say as much from a place of power. Would they agree?”

“They  _ started _ it!” Roche bit his lip hard, willing the right words to come to him. “It wasn’t – I didn’t ever intend to!”

Iorveth snorted derisively, “funny, that’s what humans always say.”

“Wha – it’s nothing to do with being human!”

“For the one with the power, it never is.” The snarl of contempt on Iorveth’s face cut something deep inside his chest.

“For fuck’s sake,” he rose to his feet, feeling a kind of helpless despair rising in him as Iorveth backed further away. “You think  _ I  _ don’t know what power I have? How easy it is for power to trump consent?”

“I think you talk good game about consent and use your mother to excuse yourself from having to live it!”

“Wha – how  _ dare  _ you,” Roche snarled, mind scrambling to catch up with the abrupt change from lassitude to suddenly on the knife’s edge of losing everything.

But fuck,  _ no one  _ talked about his mother like that. 

Iorveth growled. “How dare  _ I?  _ How dare you! Your men  _ trust  _ you–” 

Roche cut him off, “yes, they  _ do.  _ That’s  _ why _ they ask for it!”

“Oh, well, if they  _ ask _ for it,” Iorveth sneered. “Isn’t that convenient for you? You’re just meeting their demands! No power imbalance there at all!”

“Of course I know there’s a power imbalance,” Roche threw his hands up with a growl, “I  _ know _ who I am, I know what power I have!”

“Then you abuse it knowingly,” Iorveth bit out.

“Fuck you,” he snapped, even as he desperately grasped for a way to explain.

_ Please,  _ his mind begged,  _ please let him understand. I can’t lose him! _

But even so, he would not stand here and let Iorveth accuse him of rape.

“You judge without understanding a damn thing!” Roche accused. Then he reached for Iorveth, “just let me explain–”

But Iorveth slapped his hand away. “Don’t touch me, whoreson!”

Roche froze, his hand falling in mid-air. Iorveth  _ knew _ how much he hated that word, knew why it hurt so much. And he used it anyway?

Obviously Roche’s hopes for what they could be were in vain.

Instead, he sent Iorveth a furious look and turned on his heels, marching into the cabin and slamming the door  _ hard.  _

He was shaking with fury, he realized, shaking and trembling and he didn’t want to think too hard about the difference. Instead, he whirled around and drove his fist into the door again and again and again until the only thing he could focus on was the harsh rasp of wood against his knuckles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, they've got a lot to work through, all right? But they're gonna get there! ...eventually...
> 
> Don't forget to check out Iorveth's POV in [Between Two Fools Chapter 6](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26788936/chapters/66074857).


	25. Arc 3: Making Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our lovable idiots actually attempt communication. With each other, even.

Writing letters with bloody knuckles was not ideal, but Roche had nothing better to do. Everything else he could think of led right back to his problem, and he didn’t know what to do, didn’t know how to fix this.

Didn’t know if he  _ should _ fix this.

But he wanted to. Gods, he wanted so much and he’d thought – he was pretty sure Iorveth wanted it too. 

Or he had, before Roche had put his foot in it. Now? Now all Roche could do was hope that Iorveth would give him the chance to explain himself better. Because even – even if Iorveth  _ didn’t _ want him anymore, he at least didn’t want to leave Iorveth thinking whatever it was he thought about Roche now.

He wanted to be hurt that Iorveth immediately assumed he was taking advantage of the Stripes – and okay, it did sting quite a bit – but he could kind of understand. If someone else had told Roche they were involved with their squad? He would’ve assumed the worst. The Temerian Army  _ certainly _ would’ve assumed the worst – but then, the top army brass had always assumed the worst of Roche. 

Still, Iorveth could’ve let him explain. Try to, anyway. Words had never been Roche’s strong suit. 

Thus, letters. Well, truthfully, he really  _ did _ need to write those letters to Eliza, Louisa, and Aryan. Probably one to Adda, too. But first – first he was trying to explain for Iorveth.

The number of crumbled attempts laying around the table indicated he wasn’t doing well.

He wasn’t too sure about his current draft either.

_ Iorveth, _

_ I know I messed up my explanation, so I wanted to try again. When I said I wanted to discuss other partners,  _ ~~_ it’s because _ ~~ _ I meant that I want us to be on the same page. Since we’ve started this, there’s only been you. Fuck, how could I want anyone else when you’re around?  _

~~_We’ve_~~ ~~_this_~~ _The Blue Stripes are special to me. You probably already know, but I found each of them, trained them, brought them together until we became a team. I’m their commander, yes, and that does affect the power dynamics. But I swear to you, I would never put my team in a position where they did not feel safe saying no._

~~_For us, for the Stripes, it’s_~~ _I said that sex was casual for us, because it IS, but I don’t think I said it right. It’s casual because we’re already family._ _It_ _Have I ever told you my view on sex? As you can imagine, a_ ** _whoreson_** _has got kind of a_ ~~ _messed up_~~ _strange view. To me, pleasure is pleasure and I’m happy to seek it out where it’s offered._ ~~ _It’s all casual, but_~~ _It’s got nothing to do with love or emotions or whatever. Having sex with someone doesn’t affect my opinion of them, doesn’t suddenly change what a relationship is. For the Stripes, it’s about giving my people what they need. That sounds weird. It’s – the sex is significant not because of the sex itself, but because of who they are. Who you are._

Roche frowned down at the page, not at all sure if he’d actually managed to explain or not. He sighed heavily and dragged a hand over his face. It would have to do for now. He would focus on the other things that needed done and then either rewrite it or transcribe it onto a clean parchment.

He reread it again, mouth twisting at the  _ word.  _ He was very definitely still pissed about that, pissed and hurt that Iorveth would go there, even if it was in a fit of anger. But there was nothing he could  _ do  _ with that anger, so it just sat, simmering below the surface.

The candle next to his elbow sputtered and Roche looked out the window, realizing for the first time how late it had gotten. The sky was beginning to darken and Iorveth wasn’t back yet. Roche reassured himself that Iorveth  _ would _ come back, since he’d left his stuff, but that didn’t stop Roche from picking up the candle and setting out to search for Iorveth. Not that the elf couldn’t take care of himself, but… well, he didn’t feel like thinking too hard about  _ why. _

Instead, he headed towards the mountain peak, where Iorveth seemed to like playing and started his Hunt for the Scoia’tael (version 2.0). 

Iorveth wasn’t anywhere on the mountain peak, and now it was  _ really _ getting dark, Roche’s candle only lighting a handful of paces around him. He headed back towards the cabin, chewing on his lip in worry and hoping that perhaps Iorveth had returned while he’d been looking. He was only halfway there when he saw the odd shape flying through the air, headed straight for the mountain.

Roche moved closer, trying to get a better sense of what the shape was. It continued approaching the mountain, and Roche’s eyes widened. Whatever it was, it was  _ big. _

Finally, it landed on the mountain, and he could only make out vague details – some sort of winged monster. A  _ big _ winged monster. But why would it come here?

Wondering why he never seemed to run into monsters while Geralt was  _ actually _ around, Roche crept forward, shielding the light of his candle. Realistically, something that big  _ probably _ already knew he was here, but if he was gonna die anyway, he may as well get a better look.

He got one. He wasn’t sure he  _ believed _ what he was seeing, but he was, in fact, seeing it. ‘It’ being Iorveth – for there was no one else it could be – climbing off the back of a  _ fucking dragon.  _ First at La Valette Castle, then Loc Muinne, now here? How many fucking dragons were there around these parts? 

Iorveth was very clearly not afraid of the dragon. In fact, they seemed to be… playing? Unless poking and nudging their prey was part of a dragon’s pre-dinner ritual, anyway. 

Before Roche could decide what, if anything, he could possibly do against a  _ dragon,  _ the beast turned away and bounded up the mountain before leaping into the air and taking off. Iorveth simply stared after the dragon and the line of his shoulders was more relaxed than when Roche had last seen him.

Roche must’ve made some sort of noise, because Iorveth whirled around in surprise – and then did nothing except blink at him, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

“That was a dragon,” Roche said slowly.

“Yup,” Iorveth nodded, again in no way indicating that he’d just been – what? Hanging out with a  _ fucking dragon!? _

“A dragon. You rode a  _ dragon!?” _

Iorveth shrugged, “we’re friends.”

The noise that escaped Roche’s mouth was incoherent and he gaped at Iorveth.

“Shall we head back before it gets dark?” Iorveth asked with a jaunty air, striding past him and heading back towards the cabin.

He followed Iorveth, mind reeling over the – the sheer  _ casualness _ with which Iorveth was treating an association with  _ a dragon.  _ As in, an actual big fire-breathing dragon!

“Oh, Vernon,” Iorveth’s exasperated voice broke him out of his daze and he blinked, realizing they’d apparently returned to the cabin at some point. 

While he blinked stupidly, Iorveth’s long fingers circled his wrist and the candle he’d forgotten he was holding was removed from his hand.

“You’re lucky these don’t burn hotter,” Iorveth said, peeling melted candle wax away from his hand which, now that he thought about it, was actually stinging rather badly. Huh.

“You rode a  _ dragon,”  _ he said again.

“Yes, we’ve been over that,” Iorveth rolled his eyes. “Catch up, Vernon.”

_ “How _ are you friends with a dragon?”

Iorveth shrugged again, a smug little smirk on his face that made Roche simultaneously want to punch him and kiss him. “It’s an elf thing.”

“Bullshit,” Roche scoffed.

Iorveth’s grin was remorseless, and though the wax had all been removed, he was still holding Roche’s hand between his own. Roche really, really hoped that meant that the whole Stripes thing  _ wasn’t _ a total dealbreaker.

Iorveth licked his lips, “I’m sorry. For calling you – what I called you.”

Roche blinked in surprise. For some reason, he’d never expected that Iorveth might actually apologize. Too proud, he might have assumed. But now, Iorveth stared down at his hand, Iorveth’s own wrapped around them, and looked genuinely regretful.

Well, that was – there was no reason that should make it difficult to breathe. But Iorveth deserved an apology, too.

“I’m sorry for springing that on you. I didn’t – I wasn’t trying to – ugh.” He held up his a finger for Iorveth to wait a moment and turned to the table, grabbing his – ugh, really sloppy looking – letter.

Roche turned back to Iorveth, biting his lip. “I know I fucked up that explanation. So, uh – here.” He shoved the letter at Iorveth and tried to pretend it didn’t feel like putting his life in Iorveth’s hands.

“You wrote me a letter?” Iorveth blinked at him.

“Well, talking wasn’t working.”

Iorveth hummed and looked down to read the letter. Roche’s eyes stayed fixed on Iorveth’s face, hoping for – he wasn’t even sure  _ what _ he was hoping for, except that he desperately longed to hold Iorveth again.

Iorveth glanced up at him a few times, his face unreadable, and when Roche started to get dizzy, he became aware that he was holding his breath. He released his air and tried to breathe normally, but Iorveth was still reading and oh gods, what if this was the end of it all? What if Iorveth hated his explanation? Or… or accepted it, but decided that he couldn’t be with someone like Roche?

Roche gnawed on his lower lip, and when Iorveth finally looked back up at him, there was a moment of silent tension, where things could go any number of ways.

And then Iorveth broke the silence, asking in a voice that radiated exhaustion, “what am I supposed to do with this?”

Roche swallowed, trying to shrug casually. “Give me a chance?”

Iorveth frowned, clearly thinking. “I’m not – I shouldn’t have accused you. I’d never – the Scoia’tael are more like children than – well. But I know the Stripes are family to you. That’s not – that’s not why I’m–”

Roche blinked. “It’s… not?”

“I–” Iorveth dragged a hand down his face and he looked ragged and exhausted and Roche wanted nothing more than to curl up with him and sleep. 

But did  _ Iorveth _ want that?

“Gods, I could use a drink,” Iorveth muttered.

Roche snorted, more than familiar with the feeling. “We finished off the wine, but your pipe should still be outside.”

“That will do.” Iorveth slipped passed him and returned outside. 

Roche followed, grabbing the candle and lighting the torch outside the door. Iorveth was standing in front of the little table, packing the pipe, and Roche couldn’t resist stepping close behind Iorveth’s back and offering him a light.

Then, before he could give in to the urge to actually wrap his arms around Iorveth, he turned, set the candle aside, and sat on the hammock instead. He wasn’t expecting Iorveth to offer him the pipe, but it seemed only natural to invite Iorveth to share the hammock. Not – not like they had before, all cuddled up together, but even so, it was nice to sit cross legged in front of Iorveth, their knees pressed against each other as the hammock dipped in the center.

“So,” Roche began, taking a hit from the pipe and passing it back to Iorveth, “if you’re not upset about the Stripes, uh…”

Iorveth took a moment to reply, concentrating fully on the pipe in his hands. Then he exhaled and smoke curled with his breath as he fumbled for words. “It’s – I’m not – I don’t object to other partners, theoretically. But I wasn’t expecting–”

“Yeah,” Roche cut him off. “I’m sorry about that. I – yeah, that could’ve gone better.”

Iorveth snorted in agreement and when they exchanged the pipe again, Roche could feel shivery tingles spreading out from every little place their fingers had brushed together.

“So, the part you  _ do  _ object to…?”

Iorveth wouldn’t meet his gaze, looking over his shoulder instead and Roche bit his lip nervously, words trailing off into silence.

“I–I thought I could do this–” Iorveth sighed and Roche felt something in his chest shatter.

No. No no no. He couldn’t lose Iorveth, not like this. Not when he didn’t even know  _ why. _

Roche tried to take another hit, but the pipe shook in his hands and his breath hitched, and he ended up coughing harshly, bent forward and gasping for air.

What a perfect way to show Iorveth that it was worth giving him a chance. He clutched the pipe tightly in his hands and tried to focus on just breathing, not sure if the tears building in his eyes were from the coughing or from Iorveth’s words.

Iorveth patted his shoulder lightly. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” he managed, every part of him focused on the spread of Iorveth’s hand over his shoulder. That Iorveth would still touch him was a good thing, wasn’t it?

But then why would Iorveth–?

“I want more,” Iorveth said softly.

Roche blinked. More? That – he wasn’t wholly sure what that meant, but he could do that. Surely he could give Iorveth that.  _ Please,  _ he begged internally, and he wasn’t even sure precisely what it was he was begging for except  _ Iorveth. _

“I want–” Iorveth continued, “the Stripes are important to you. I want that.”

“Oh,” Roche wanted to cry in relief and he blinked rapidly to avoid it, “but Iorveth, you already  _ are.  _ I – gods, how could anyone compare to you? You’re–” he fumbled for words, trying to say too much at once.

_ You’re the best opponent I’ve ever had _

_ You’re everything I want in life. _

_ You’re the most incredible person I’ve ever met. _

_ You made me fall in love with you. _

He swallowed and tried again. “You’re – yes. I want that too. Is what I’m trying to say.”

Iorveth’s expression was a mix of surprise and hope as he murmured a quick, “good.”

“Yeah?” Roche had to ask, feeling a smile beginning to stretch across his face.

Iorveth nodded, finally meeting his eyes, and the turmoil of emotions in Iorveth’s green eye had him reaching out, moving slowly and telegraphing his movements. 

“I mean it,” he murmured, “there’s only been you. Fuck, even when Ves and Fenn were playing with Thirteen, all I could think was that I wanted you.”

Iorveth blushed, “oh.”

Roche smoothed his thumb across Iorveth’s cheek, following the line of his blush. He looked so beautiful and Roche had to swallow down his own storm of emotions to say, “I know it’ll take more than one conversation to believe, but you’re – fuck, Iorveth, when you’re around, I can’t look away.”

Literally, more often than Roche was really comfortable with, honestly. As Geralt once said, it was a good thing the Stripes were a bit… stupid. Stupid was really the only word for it. A bit  _ stupid _ at times, because he had probably been horribly, horribly obvious with longing looks before he’d realized how he felt about Iorveth. And since then? Well…

Okay, it was possible he would need to work on not looking lovestruck in front of witnesses.

At any rate, he cupped Iorveth’s cheek, and Iorveth leaned into him, eye closed and face unlined. Roche couldn’t help sliding his hand up Iorveth’s cheek and into his hair, lightly tugging to guide Iorveth’s face down to press against his chest. They weren’t really in the right position for that at all, but he needed to hold Iorveth, and Iorveth seemed to  _ like _ using his chest as a pillow, so… why not?

He pressed a kiss to the top of Iorveth’s head and closed his own eyes, just breathing in Iorveth’s presence. So he was not at all expecting it when Iorveth pushed against him and followed him down when he fell on his back against the hammock. Iorveth’s face was still pressed against his chest, and even though laying like this with crossed legs was  _ awful,  _ he found himself laughing brightly, wrapping his arms around Iorveth to hold the elf close while he stretched his legs out.

They lay like that, Roche on his back and Iorveth facedown against his chest, for a long while. Their only company was the crackling of the torch, the chittering of insects, the distant howl of wolves amongst the whistling of the wind. It was peaceful in a way that made Roche understand why people might live in the middle of nowhere, rather than in a big city.

Of course, he was a city boy himself, but here, in this little vacation from reality, he could pretend.

“It’s nice enough out,” he murmured, “we could just sleep out here.”

Iorveth nodded against his chest with a yawn that made Roche yawn too. He combed his fingers through Iorveth’s hair and enjoyed the weight of Iorveth against him, the slight rock of the hammock, the light brush of wind against his face.

After long enough that he’d assumed Iorveth had fallen asleep, Iorveth had a sudden realization. “...we’re laying on the pipe, aren’t we?”

“Oh shit,” Roche felt a surge of alarm, but he was too tired to be bothered with it. “If it hasn’t burned anything yet, it’s not going to.”

Iorveth snorted, “if we catch on fire, I’m blaming you.”

“Like you wouldn’t anyway,” he chuckled.

“Mmm, true,” Iorveth murmured, nuzzling further into his chest.

Roche looked down at Iorveth, marvelling at his good fortune, to be able to hold someone as ferocious and feral as Iorveth. Even after the ups and downs of the last day, Iorveth still trusted him enough to let his guard down, to even fall asleep in his presence. He honestly had no idea how he’d managed to win Iorveth’s trust, but he felt like he was holding a small, fragile thing that, if he could stop messing up, could grow into something large and sturdy.

_ Like a tree,  _ Roche thought with a laugh. Step on a sapling too many times, and that life would get trodden into the earth. But nurture it? Eventually a large oak could grow and extend the shelter it provided to other life.

Not that he’d ever grown a tree – or any other type of plant – before. But the concept seemed straightforward. For Iorveth, he might even give it a go one day.

...after he finished his carving, anyway. Maybe gardening would be less mind numbingly boring than peeling away little curls of wood and never really making any progress.

He would try to finish the carving tomorrow, Roche decided. What better way to show Iorveth that he  _ was _ important to Roche than to offer him an elven courting gift?

If Iorveth needed more… maybe Roche could step up his wooing. He’d brought a few things, had a few ideas in mind, but after yesterday, he’d been unsure how to proceed with them. Now? With Iorveth sleeping peacefully in his arms and having clearly said that this relationship was something they both wanted? 

Roche nodded to himself and began planning a romantic dinner for the two of them. He’d never actually tried to woo someone with his cooking before, but all of the Stripes swore up and down that he  _ could.  _ And Iorveth needed more meat on his bones. 

When Roche fell asleep, it was to dreams of grand feasts and Iorveth, ribs finally no longer visible, smiling so very softly at him as he danced around the kitchen, preparing all manner of things for his lover.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget to check out Iorveth's POV in [Between Two Fools Chapter 7](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26788936/chapters/66147025)
> 
> I've got the next 2 weeks off of work, which means I'll be spending even more of my time writing, but I've also got like half a dozen medical procedures, so... idk when the next update will be, BUT wanted to make sure I left y'all on a happy note in case it's more than a few days!


	26. Arc 3: Day 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Roche spends a delightful morning absorbed in Iorveth.

Roche was not unused to sleeping outside. Not even unused to sleeping without a tent. What he _was_ unused to was sleeping next to a bright torch that was still burning steadily when he opened his eyes at some point before dawn. He groaned roughly and closed his eyes again, trying to fall back asleep, but the light taunted him behind his eyelids and nope, he was gonna have to deal with it.

Getting out of the hammock without disturbing Iorveth turned out to be impossible, and after he almost flipped them over, Roche decided it was best to prod Iorveth into moving whether it woke him or not. Iorveth grumbled, but shifted enough so that Roche managed to get out _without_ accidentally throwing Iorveth to the ground. 

Finally, he stretched with a yawn and doused the torch, then stumbled back to the hammock half-blind in the night. He almost ran directly into Iorveth – and almost knocked him to the ground _again_ – but eventually, Roche managed to climb into the hammock next to him. Iorveth leaned into Roche as their combined weight pressed them both towards the middle, and he was more than happy to wrap his arms around the elf and nuzzle into the skin in front of him. 

The next time he awoke was much more pleasant. Firstly, with each inhale, all he could smell was Iorveth and the fresh mountain air, a combination that seemed fitting. Secondly, he was curled around Iorveth’s back and there was absolutely no downside to that. Thirdly, Iorveth was apparently already awake and he kept _moving,_ just the slightest bit, but enough to grind his ass into Roche’s pelvis and look, Roche was only human. Even if he _hadn’t_ woken up with morning wood, who would be able to resist _that!?_

His arm was around Iorveth’s torso and he slid it down to cup Iorveth’s hip, putting a temporary stop to the grinding.

“Good morning,” he murmured, kissing the back of Iorveth’s neck. 

Iorveth made a soft noise and started to move again, reaching down to cover his hand and interlace their fingers. Then Iorveth tugged, using their entwined fingers to guide Roche’s hand up Iorveth’s side and across his stomach, until Roche could feel bare skin against his palm where Iorveth’s robes gaped open. He nuzzled into Iorveth’s neck, dropping kisses at random as he let Iorveth have full control over his hand. Whatever Iorveth used it for, he had no doubt he’d greatly enjoy it.

He was right. Iorveth guided his hand up Iorveth’s stomach and across his chest until Roche’s palm caught on his nipple. Iorveth shuddered, still grinding back against Roche, and his cock had very definitely taken an interest now, but he held himself still – well, as still as he could – and let himself be used for Iorveth’s pleasure, delighting in the way that thought sent fiery tingles up his spine.

Iorveth let out a small sound and Roche had to open his mouth against Iorveth’s neck, had to suck until all he could taste was Iorveth’s skin. 

Iorveth slid Roche’s hand slowly back down his chest and stomach, slipping underneath his robes. Roche hooked his chin over Iorveth’s shoulder to watch as they pushed Iorveth’s robes down far enough that their joined hands could reach under and touch Iorveth’s cock. They both shuddered at the touch, and all Roche could see was the vague shape of their hands creating a bulge in Iorveth’s robes, so he closed his eyes and buried his face in Iorveth’s neck, focusing on the way Iorveth felt against him, under his hand.

He wanted to explore Iorveth’s cock, but even more, he wanted Iorveth to use him however Iorveth wanted. Besides, Iorveth clearly knew exactly how he liked being touched, and he wrapped Roche’s fingers around his cock with a loose grip. 

Iorveth’s cock wasn’t very wet yet, but as Iorveth twisted Roche’s hand around it, the ridges gradually produced more slick. Iorveth tightened Roche’s hand slowly until all Roche could focus on was the silky skin under his grip, the way Iorveth twitched and moaned as their hands moved, the way Iorveth was growing wetter and wetter against him.

“Mmm,” Roche hummed, “love how wet you get for me.” His hips squirmed, grinding forward against Iorveth’s ass before he managed to stop himself. He was Iorveth’s to use right now, Iorveth’s to move however Iorveth wanted. 

Iorveth bucked back against him with a moaned, “Vernon.”

Roche shivered, breathing in the smell of Iorveth and sex, feeling the hot velvety skin under his fingers, listening to the shortness of Iorveth’s breath and the small sounds the elf let out as they stroked his cock together. 

His senses felt drunk on Iorveth and he wanted _more,_ wanted everything he could have. So he pressed a kiss to Iorveth’s ear and looked down the length of Iorveth’s body. As much as he truly did like Iorveth’s robes, right now, they were very much in the way and he couldn’t help the discontent sound that escaped him.

Iorveth tensed immediately, freezing in place, and Roche couldn’t help moving then, couldn’t help grinding forward and nuzzling into Iorveth’s neck. “Wanna see,” he explained, pressing his lips against Iorveth’s skin.

The sound Iorveth made had a surprised note in it, but the elf squirmed around until the robe slid down his shoulders. Iorveth’s hand left Roche’s long enough to push his clothes down until the neckline was low enough to expose Iorveth’s cock. 

Roche licked his lips, staring down the line of Iorveth’s stomach, watching the way his wide, pale fingers stroked Iorveth’s cock, guided by Iorveth’s more delicate hand, his skin a few shades darker than Roche’s. Roche’s breath was coming fast and he belatedly realized that he’d forgotten to stop rocking his hips against Iorveth’s ass. Fortunately, Iorveth very much did not seem to mind.

“Nnnh, Vernon,” Iorveth moaned.

“What do you need, darling?”

“I want – _ah_ – I want your cock between my thighs,” Iorveth panted, grinding back against him. “Want to feel you hot against me.”

“Fuck,” Roche muffled his moan against Iorveth’s neck. “Pull your robes up,” he demanded, wondering if he could work the hand he was lying on down to push his trousers out of the way.

Iorveth reluctantly let go of Roche’s hand to ruck his robes up around his waist. When Roche loosened his fingers, though, Iorveth grunted, reaching around to rip off his trousers until he could push his bare cock between Iorveth’s thighs. 

His laugh at Iorveth’s demand – as clear as if the elf had said it aloud, _keep your hand where it’s meant to be, dh’oine_ – turned into a low moan as he thrust forward between Iorveth’s legs. Iorveth shuddered, especially when his cock rubbed across the folds of Iorveth’s cunt, and the thighs around him clenched.

“Gods, fuck,” Iorveth swore, hand wrapping around Roche’s again and guiding his movement, even as he started a steady rhythm of fucking Iorveth’s thighs.

The hammock rocked with their movements, and the wind felt cool against his flushed face, and Iorveth wiggled back against him with every thrust, and Roche couldn’t imagine a better way to start his morning. 

He was quickly discovering that fucking Iorveth’s thighs, rubbing against Iorveth’s dripping cunt as he thrust forward, forcing Iorveth’s legs apart slightly as muscles clenched around him was possibly his new favorite activity.

“Nngh, Iorveth,” Roche mumbled, forcing eyes that wanted to flutter shut to focus on the view before him. “Gods, everything with you feels so good.”

When he could keep his eyes open no longer, he turned his face against Iorveth’s head to suck a pointed ear into his mouth. Iorveth whined, arching against him.

“Vernon,” Iorveth gasped, clutching Roche close to him as they chased their pleasure together. 

“Come for me, darling,” Roche murmured in his ear and Iorveth’s breath hitched, his hips bucking violently as he came. Roche stroked Iorveth through it gently, slowing the rocking of his hips. Iorveth shuddered, hand clenching around Roche’s, and then Roche felt the way Iorveth’s muscles liquified against him. He smiled, pressing a soft kiss to the skin behind Iorveth’s ear, and raised their messy hands to offer a taste to Iorveth. “Since I can’t reach,” he said, nuzzling into Iorveth’s neck, “you’ll just have to do the clean up yourself.” He wiggled his fingers in invitation and Iorveth snorted lightly, tongue flicking out to drag across Roche’s index finger. 

He shivered at the warm touch of Iorveth’s tapered tongue, longer and more flexible than a human’s. Someday, they should really explore all the possibilities that gave them. 

But for now? Roche slowed his hips to a stop, closing his eyes and pressing his face into Iorveth’s neck. He was fairly sure he’d never felt as content as he did in this moment, wrapped around Iorveth and having given him pleasure. He was so content, in fact, that he was able to fall asleep.

Roche breathed in the scent of Iorveth and sex and pleasure and hummed happily as he drifted off.

* * *

They napped until mid-morning, at which point Roche’s bladder demanded that he move. After that, it only made sense to get up – and not just because the looming spectre of _lazy-wasting-time-should-be-working_ snuck up behind him. This was the happiest he’d been in probably a very long time, but he simply wasn’t used to not working all the time.

Taking a vacation was surprisingly difficult.

Attempting to shove aside the guilt, Roche channeled his need to work into his plan to woo Iorveth. So to speak, anyway. To show Iorveth how important he was.

“Anything you want to do today?” Roche asked Iorveth after they’d eaten the leftovers of his breakfast hash.

Iorveth shrugged, not quite looking at him, “not particularly.”

“I want to go hunting,” he said, biting his lip. “There’s a dish I’d like to make for you. Think you’ll like it.”

Iorveth arched an eyebrow, “didn’t realize you liked cooking so much.”

“My mom taught me.” He let out a breath of amusement, “we used to dance around our little kitchen and sing. Cooking was always joyful – meant we had enough food to cook _with.”_

“Did she teach you the songs you’ve been singing?” Iorveth asked.

“Some of them,” Roche nodded. “I taught her a lot of them, though. I used to hang out at the theatre nearby when – uh – during my mom’s business hours, so to speak.”

“Ah.”

He cleared his throat, hurrying to change the subject. “Learned a lot from the theatre. I used to watch the audience, watch the actors practicing. Taught me how to read body language.”

“Oh? Not acting?”

Roche snorted roughly. “I am an absolutely terrible actor, as I’ve been reliably informed many times over. Apparently I’m too ‘understated’,” he shrugged. “Never liked being in the spotlight anyway. Always been a behind the scenes person. At any rate, I know enough to do undercover work when I need it.”

Iorveth made a small noise of understanding. “You were undercover that night in Bel Dorul, weren’t you? But you gave your real name.”

“Oh yeah, when we first met? I was, uh, technically on my way back to Vizima. I was also very drunk.”

“I remember,” Iorveth smiled. 

Roche laughed, “still managed to catch your eye.”

“You literally ran into me,” Iorveth pointed out.

“Eh, details,” he winked. “Anyway, think I might salt and dry some of the meat. Not that food is scarce in Vergen, but…”

“Old habits die hard.”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Seen a couple of deer around. Hoping I can nail a stag.”

“Want some company?” Iorveth offered and Roche bit his lip.

“I actually – I. There’s something I have for you. Or rather, something I wanna finish.”

Iorveth blinked, “oh. Uh, okay. I’ve been wanting to explore the plantlife on the mountain, so…”

Roche nodded, not noticing the way Iorveth had gone stiff and tense, “sounds good.” 

He rustled through his bag until he could pull out his crossbow, then surreptitiously snagged his carving from the flower pot out front. The book he left for the moment – it wouldn’t do to accidentally get blood on it, or for it to distract him from the hunt, after all. Then Roche headed down the mountain a bit, to where the trees were more populous and the deer more likely to roam. He found a good spot, downwind from a mountain spring and under the shade of a large tree that Iorveth probably knew the name of, but Roche didn’t, and settled down to wait. 

And carve. Gods, he hated carving. It was so slooooow, and it left his mind free to wander and to question and to just get _bored._ But dammit, the book said that a carving could be used as a courting gift and Roche was determined to show Iorveth that he _wanted_ to court the elf, that he _wanted_ to be with Iorveth.

Still, as frustrating as carving was, the wooden flower was coming along nicely. It was a little blocky, but Roche was pretty sure no one could mistake it for something _else._

Probably.

He bit his lip and stowed the finished carving away, turning his full attention to watching for deer. Or trying to, anyway. But he couldn’t help the way his thoughts turned to plans for this evening. He was going to make Iorveth a special dish, venison steak with redcurrant sauce. If his assessment was right, Iorveth would love it, would open up in that way he did when he was pleasantly surprised. Maybe he’d kiss Roche, and Roche could discover what his dish tasted like directly from Iorveth’s mouth.

Dinner would be the perfect time to give Iorveth the courting gift. What would Iorveth’s response be? Yes, hopefully, but how would he show it? Would he look at Roche that same soft way he did when asking Roche to come with him to Vergen? Perhaps he’d tug on Roche’s hair the way he had then, courageously looking into Roche’s eyes as he asked what had to be one of the hardest things to ever ask.

Roche licked his lips, realizing as he did so that he had a dopey smile on his face. He tried to frown, tried to adopt his usual gruff demeanor, but the prospect of Iorveth accepting his courtship, of agreeing to build a life together with Roche – giddy laughter built in his chest and he only just managed to swallow it down. It wouldn’t do to startle the wildlife, after all. Not when he was lying in wait for a stag to woo Iorveth with.

Gods, when had he turned into a school girl? Roche scrubbed his hands over his face, but even so, his lips remained curled upwards.

Twigs snapping alerted him to something approaching and he forced himself back on task, raising his crossbow. 

A broad stag broke through the treeline to approach the spring, and Roche readied his shot.

* * *

Iorveth was sitting outside the cabin smoking his pipe, flute at his side, when Roche returned with the stag over his shoulder, and clothes that absolutely needed a wash. He hung the stag from a tree and skinned it, then started butchering it. 

By the time he had the cuts of meat he needed for dinner and the rest set aside to salt and preserve, his shirt was more than slightly disgusting. So it only made sense to remove it before he started treating the meat, right? It was a hot day out, and Iorveth had begun to play a soft song in the background, and overall, there was something really nice about just coexisting with one another, even as they were occupied with their own tasks.

He spread the venison out across a large flat rock once it was salted, then stretched, reaching high above his head until his back popped. What he could really use was a bath. After all, it wouldn’t do to serve Iorveth a romantic dinner while stinking up the whole place. Besides, he had _never_ noticed an elf smelling, even after fights where they’d all ended up mud caked and bloody. Did elves not sweat? Or maybe since they were hairless, the sweat didn’t linger the way it did for humans?

Roche shrugged to himself and brought the steaks he’d set aside for dinner inside. It was too early in the day to begin cooking, so he definitely had time for a bath. He pulled out a change of clothes – a warm brown tunic that Shorty (their resident fashion expert) claimed brought out his eyes, and some comfortable trousers.

“Hey, Iorveth,” he said, closing the door behind him, “I’m gonna go bathe at that spring. Wanna come?”

Iorveth bit his lip, shaking his head, “think I’ll stay here.”

Roche frowned, disappointed, but turned to head to the spring. “Okay. See you in a bit.”

If Iorveth responded, he didn’t hear it.

The walk to the spring was quick and as soon as the clearing was in sight, Roche found himself shucking his trousers and diving into the cool water, just letting himself float for long minutes.

He was going to do it today, was going to present his courtship request before Iorveth. He was going to make sure that everything was perfect for that, from the dinner to his appearance. Roche scratched at his chin, realizing that he should probably shave for that. 

Damn, he’d left his razor back at the cabin, but after just a few days without shaving, his stubble held a closer relation to a beard than to a clean shaven jaw. Nodding to himself, Roche ducked under the water and scrubbed himself quickly, scouring off the sweat of the day.

Then he dried himself using his old trousers and dressed rapidly, making his way back to the cabin. He was mostly certain he’d packed his shaving kit, even though he hadn’t used it thus far on their vacation. It was probably just buried deep in his bag somewhere.

...hopefully.

Roche was a handful of paces away from the cabin when he heard a soft sound coming from behind it. Brow furrowing, he circled the building – and his mouth fell open at the sight that greeted him.

Iorveth was sprawled out on the grass in front of him, heels planted in the ground and knees spread wide as Iorveth touched himself, two fingers thrusting deep inside him.

Roche couldn’t seem to catch his breath, wondering what Iorveth was thinking of as he pleasured himself. Iorveth hadn’t noticed Roche yet, eye closed and scrunched tight as he chased his orgasm, and Roche hoped that he was allowed to watch.

They were involved enough to assume it was okay, weren’t they? Because he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the way Iorveth’s robe pooled around his waist, bunching under his back as he thrust his hips into the air.

“Nnngh,” Iorveth moaned, “Vernon.”

Roche inhaled sharply, eyes wide. Iorveth was thinking of _him!?_ He licked his lips, meeting Iorveth’s startled gaze with eyes full of lust.

Iorveth had frozen the moment he realized he had an audience and Roche’s voice was gravely and deep as he begged, “fuck, don’t stop.”

Iorveth blinked at him, his thumb rubbing a slow circle against his clit, and Roche had to watch, his mouth watering with the desire to taste. Iorveth’s thighs were wet, glistening in the sunlight, and his fingers squelched as they thrust inside him. Roche licked his lips. Iorveth was so wet already. How much further could he push the elf?

Iorveth was watching him, chest rising and falling rapidly and Roche met his eye, approaching slowly, just in case he wasn’t wanted here. “Tell me what you’re thinking about?” he asked.

Iorveth moaned, blushing vividly until his ears were bright crimson. “You,” he said and Roche shivered, something bright and warm building in his chest. _Him._ Iorveth was thinking about _him_ while bringing himself pleasure.

But if he’d wanted this, why hadn’t Iorveth just come with him to the spring? Or asked for it? It wasn’t like Roche would ever say no. 

Iorveth licked his lips and continued, “tell–telling me what you’ll do after – after I–”

“After you come all over your own fingers,” Roche guessed, pulse thumping in his ears as he realized.

Iorveth nodded, still flushed red, and Roche felt a rush of softness and the sudden urge to gather Iorveth in his arms.

But Iorveth was occupied with something else right now, so Roche rasped, “oh, Iorveth, the things I want to do to you.”

Iorveth whined, his hips bucking up against his hand, and Roche watched with bated breath. 

“Gods, I can’t wait to taste you. ‘could happily drown myself in your cunt and not regret a single thing.” He stepped closer to Iorveth and knelt down by his feet. When Iorveth didn’t object, he reached out to trace gentle fingers across the arch of Iorveth’s bare foot. “You’re beautiful. Fuck, but never seen anything more beautiful than you in the midst of pleasure. Never wanted to make someone feel good as much as I want you to. Hell, I could never have an orgasm again and if I got to bring you pleasure, it would be entirely worth it.”

It was true, honestly. Who needed orgasms when he could bring Iorveth pleasure, when he could listen to Iorveth make those soft little pleading sounds, when he could watch this beautiful elf fuck himself on his own fingers while thinking about _Roche._

“Vernon,” Iorveth moaned, and Roche licked his lips.

“Gods, I want to taste you, want to fill you, see you stretched around my cock. Never felt anything better than coming inside you, you know? Literal ecstasy. Fuck, if I could, I’d spend every moment of every day inside you, feel you around me even when I’m soft.” He shivered at the idea, swallowing the excess saliva in his mouth.

Iorveth’s breathing was rough and his eye watered and Roche had never seen anything more alluring. He was moving before he’d really decided to, crawling around Iorveth to sit next to his shoulder and wipe away his tears with a thumb.

Iorveth’s eye fluttered open and it was wet and dazed. Roche stroked his cheek.

“Shhh, it’s okay, darling. Were it in my power, I’d give you everything you ever wanted.”

Hell, for Iorveth, he would seek out more and more power, even though that had never been his drive before. But if Iorveth needed something, Roche would be damned if he couldn’t provide it.

“Vernon,” Iorveth moaned, “fuck, please–”

“Shhh,” Roche hushed, reaching out to clasp Iorveth’s free hand, which was clawing wildly at the grass. “You’re almost there. Just bring yourself over and then you can have my mouth, hmm? Have any part of me that you wish,” he promised.

Iorveth whined, breath shuddering. “Vernon,” he begged, and there was frustration and longing and pure unbridled lust in his voice.

He needed permission, Roche realized suddenly and felt it like a gut punch of heat. Iorveth wanted permission to come. Roche swallowed and ordered, “come for me, Iorveth.”

Iorveth did, arching and moaning loudly as his orgasm gushed over his fingers and thighs. If asked, Roche would’ve expected that he would watch that, watch the way Iorveth’s cunt clenched around Iorveth’s own fingers, watch the way his thighs trembled and his toes curled.

Instead, Roche found himself transfixed as ecstasy washed over Iorveth’s face, watching as those red lips parted around a moan. Iorveth’s face was slack with pleasure, the lines in his face smooth, the cut of his eyebrow softening from its standard glare. It was perhaps the most enchanting sight Roche had ever laid eyes on.

Iorveth’s eye fluttered open with a soft noise, and he looked up at Roche with a longing gaze, and Roche didn’t want to push, he _didn’t_ – but fuck, he really, really wanted Iorveth to sit on his face right now.

When Iorveth just blinked at him, not moving at all, Roche licked his lips and asked hesitantly, “can I–?”

Iorveth nodded lazily and Roche grinned, using their joined hands to tug Iorveth over as he lay on his back. He settled down, wiggling his shoulders to get comfortable, then tugged again. “Ride my face?”

That seemed to spur Iorveth into motion and he crawled across Roche’s body to kneel over his face. 

“Mmm,” Roche hummed, grabbing Iorveth’s thighs and pulling the elf against his face, licking into him eagerly. Iorveth was so wet already, and Roche couldn’t help the way his hips squirmed as he lapped up Iorveth’s slick, then circled his tongue around Iorveth’s clit.

Gods, he could do this all day, for as long as Iorveth could possibly stand. Roche could die happily so long as he had the taste of Iorveth on his tongue.

Iorveth twisted fingers in his hair and tugged, moaning his name again. Roche had never heard a more beautiful sound, and he wanted more of it, thrusting his tongue into Iorveth and savouring the way Iorveth clenched around him.

He moved to suck on Iorveth’s clit, flicking across it with his tongue, and Iorveth wailed, fingers clutching his hair desperately. 

“Vernon,” Iorveth moaned, and Roche shuddered, cock hard in his trousers and he wished he had another pair of hands, because his were currently busy pulling Iorveth against his mouth and he couldn’t spare them to touch himself. 

Iorveth twitched and pulsed around him and Roche pulled the elf harder against his face. The sounds Iorveth was making had his hips squirming constantly and pleasure washed up and down his spine with the knowledge that _he_ was the one drawing those noises out of Iorveth.

“Vernon, I’m–” Iorveth warned, tugging at his hair frantically. Roche nuzzled into Iorveth’s cunt, licking into him desperately.

Iorveth’s breathing hiccuped and then he moaned loudly, coming in waves over Roche’s face, dripping down his chin and saturating his overgrown scruff with the scent of Iorveth’s pleasure.

Roche ran his hands up and down Iorveth’s thighs and ass, holding the elf close as Iorveth collapsed around his head. Iorveth’s weight was making it a little difficult to breathe, but for the moment, he found he couldn’t be bothered to worry about that, not when Iorveth was shivering around him, still letting out soft whines. Not when Roche was hard, as hard as he’d ever been even though he’d come earlier and frankly, he wasn’t young anymore. But to savour something as wonderful as Iorveth, his body seemed content to ignore its limitations to provide what Iorveth requested.

Gods, he hoped Iorveth still wanted to ride him, because fuck, he was so hard he ached and the idea of sinking into Iorveth’s body, soft and giving and so very sweet – Roche shuddered, exhaling a moan against Iorveth’s cunt. Iorveth shivered in response, shifting down his body slowly, and Roche whimpered, eager even as he lamented the way his nice tunic was growing wet as Iorveth’s sopping cunt dragged down it.

Then he pictured wearing the tunic later, wearing it even as it showed clear signs of the pleasure he’d brought Iorveth, and suddenly he wasn’t bothered by the mess at all.

Finally, Iorveth ground down against his cock, practically attempting to ride him through his trousers and _fuck,_ he needed his clothes gone immediately.

“Take out your cock,” Iorveth demanded, hips squirming against Roche’s before he rose onto his knees, just high enough that Roche could reach down for the ties on his trousers.

His fingers brushed against Iorveth’s wet folds as he worked and Iorveth shuddered, dripping against him. “Fuck,” Roche whispered, breathless and awestruck at how wet Iorveth got for him. “Gods, please, need you,” he whimpered, tearing at his trousers until they were out of the way.

Iorveth was on him immediately, wet and tight and sliding down his cock like it was meant to be inside Iorveth. Roche moaned brokenly, hips jerking up against Iorveth and Iorveth whimpered, clenching around him. 

“Vernon,” Iorveth murmured, his eye struggling to stay open as he shuddered around Roche. “Fuck, always so _hot_ inside me.”

Roche gripped Iorveth’s hips, marveling at the way his thumbs seemed to fit perfectly in the divots there. “How do you want me, darling?” he asked, wanting to give Iorveth anything and everything.

Iorveth clenched and moaned, then rose onto his knees, pulling himself off of Roche’s cock until only the tip remained. “I want,” Iorveth gasped, thighs trembling, “I want you to watch me make you come.”

Roche whined, breath coming fast and eyes fixed on Iorveth. “Yes,” he said senselessly, mouth open as he stared at Iorveth above him.

Then Iorveth licked his lips and dropped down all at once, abruptly impaling himself on Roche’s cock. Roche gasped, hanging onto his control by his fingernails.

But Iorveth didn’t want him to be controlled. Iorveth wanted him to watch and let Iorveth ride him until he was satisfied. 

Roche panted, rubbing his thumbs against Iorveth’s hips, just holding him, not trying to guide the pace at all. “I–” he begged, “gods, please let me move against you.”

Iorveth blinked at him as if surprised, but nodded. “Yes,” Iorveth rasped, “fuck me, Vernon. Watch the way you fill me perfectly.”

“Oh, gods,” Roche whimpered, eyes darting between Iorveth’s face, slack with pleasure, to his heaving chest, robe crumbled and bunched around his arm pits, to his leaking cock, dripping slick against Roche’s pelvis, and finally down to Iorveth’s tight cunt, stretched wide around Roche’s own cock, then back up to Iorveth’s face, where his breath shuddered out of his open mouth and he moaned each time he dropped back down onto Roche, as if Roche’s cock pleased him greatly.

Fuck, but Roche hoped it did.

“Iorveth,” he gasped, thrusting up hard at the same time Iorveth dropped his weight down and they both cried out in pleasure. 

“Vernon,” Iorveth’s voice was pleasure-soaked and heady and Roche never wanted to hear his name said any other way ever again.

“I’m gonna–” 

Iorveth dropped down and didn’t raise himself up again, instead circling his hips against Roche’s and clenching around him. “Yesssss,” Iorveth hissed and Roche couldn’t hold on any longer.

Back arching wildly, eyes watching the way Iorveth ground his clit against the base of Roche’s cock, Roche came with a broken yell, and Iorveth clenched around him tightly, milking him through it. Iorveth moaned, pulsing against him, head thrown back and Roche had to reach out with the hazy part of his brain that remained, had to run his thumb across the length of Iorveth’s jaw, down his exposed throat.

Roche wasn’t sure how much time had passed when Iorveth’s hand came up to clasp his, his sense of time eclipsed entirely by Iorveth. But Iorveth wrapped slim fingers around his hand and brought it to Iorveth’s mouth. Dry lips pressed against the meat of his thumb and Roche blinked, brain lagging several moments behind as he watched Iorveth close his eye and clutch Roche’s hand against his face.

“Iorveth,” he whispered, tongue clumsy in his mouth. Gods, he loved Iorveth so much, felt so overflowing with it that he was near-choking on it, unable to push the words out. 

Iorveth’s eye fluttered open and he smiled so very softly down at Roche, pleased satisfaction radiating off of him. Roche shivered at the knowledge that _he_ had been the one to bring Iorveth to this state.

He used their joined hands to tug Iorveth down, wanting to say everything he couldn’t with lips and teeth and tongue, but Iorveth just buried his face in Roche’s neck, and really, that was good, too.

They stayed like that for a long time, Iorveth curled over him and slowly leaking around Roche’s softening cock, their hands entwined against Roche’s chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out Iorveth's POV in [Between Two Fools Chapter 8!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26788936/chapters/67755494)


End file.
